


Stay in My Corner

by maxbegone



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, Comfort, David Rose gives and receives a lot of hugs in this story, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Fluff, Husbands, Introspection, Lots Of Kissing I Promise, M/M, Making out like teenagers, Patrick Brewer's undershirts are illegal, also a lot of recipe talk in the first chapter WHOOPS, and of course a lot of teasing, because David said so, david gets to know patrick and the brewers a bit better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone
Summary: Patrick’s not just a guy who materialized out of nowhere. He has a history. He has family and friends here in this town where he was raised, and there is so much more for David to learn about this man that he loves to the ends of the earth.--David and Patrick venture to Patrick's hometown shortly after their engagement, where David learns so much more about the people and the places that shaped the man he's going to marry.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 85
Kudos: 367





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this for close to two months. What started out as a random idea on a walk one day blossomed into something so much more. This is by far the longest fic -- and story, really -- that I have ever written. 
> 
> A big, big shout out to Sojie (@imargaery on tumblr/ petrodobreva on Ao3) for being a fantastic beta and helping me to make this the best piece it can possibly be.
> 
> And to everyone I've given a sneak preview to long before today, and for helping me out here and there, I thank you as well. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

It was David who insisted on closing the store for a few days so they could drive down to Patrick’s hometown and see his parents. When they FaceTimed with the Brewers to tell them they’d gotten engaged, they were elated. 

Mrs. Brewer had even said, “You boys have to come down and visit so we can all celebrate properly!”

So at the end of the Cabaret run and after the disastrous wedding venue situation, David stood firmly in front of Patrick with his hands on his shoulders and said, “Let’s close for a few days next week and go see your parents.”

So here they were, coasting down the highway toward Patrick’s hometown on a Friday, the store closed until Monday afternoon. Stevie was given a spare set of keys  _ just  _ in case there was an issue. 

“How much further?” 

David was jittery in the passenger seat, teetering on that fine line between anxious and excited. He’s been fidgeting with the music the whole drive, changing his mind halfway through one song and skipping to the next. It earns a few eyerolls from his fiancé.

"A few more exits.” Patrick reaches a hand across the console to give his knee a squeeze. “You okay?”

“A little nervous,” David nods, but it comes out sounding more like a question.

Patrick gives him a quick questioning glance.

"I think it’s more the excitement at this point,” David continues, hands flying in little circles, “but I really just don’t want to mess anything up.” 

Patrick lets out a sigh. “You’re not going to mess anything up.”

He makes a face. “You have too much faith in me.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” Patrick repeats. His hand slides a little further up David’s thigh. “My parents love you--“

“They’ve met me in person  _ once.”  _

“Yes. And they loved you! I think more than me, actually.” It makes David laugh a little. “But we talk to them all the time, and you and my mom have been texting each other a bunch.”

David shrinks a bit in his seat. “Yeah, we do. How’d you know that?”

Patrick just smiles and says, “She told me about it after you insisted on sending her something from the store.”

“Which I paid for.”

“Yes, I know.” 

David tucks his lips into a crooked smile and turns his attention back to the radio. 

“Half hour,” Patrick says, so David turns on some Fiona Apple and stares at the scenery rushing past. 

Out of nowhere, he snaps his head up and says, “We’re not walking into a whole big thing with your entire family waiting to greet us, are we?”

“No,” Patrick’s sincere, “my parents have sworn up and down that they wouldn’t spring that on us. They don't want to scare you away just yet." 

Okay, then. Good. He didn’t have to up the charm. He knew Patrick’s parents already, he didn’t need to be too different from his normal self. All David had to do was tone down the dramatics and be as much of himself as he could be. He didn’t have to win the Brewers over, but maybe he  _ should  _ charm them just a little bit, too. Should they have brought something besides the wine he insisted on or--

“David?”

“Huh?”

“We’re here.” 

They had pulled in the driveway without David even realizing. He blinks at the sight before him, this house, this landmark, really, causes warmth to spread in his chest. David is smiling at how absolutely beautiful and unexpected it is.

Because for one, Patrick’s childhood home is not blue. It’s white.

He loves it. It’s a slight two-story ranch house with a faded white-painted brick on part of the exterior. There's a wrap-around porch that David can already see himself sitting on with a cup of tea, cozied up in a blanket with Patrick as his parents exchange childhood stories. There’s a basketball hoop hanging above the garage, and David can almost see tween Patrick playing in the driveway for hours against his dad.

The front lawn, save for a scrap of bluebells by the mailbox, is immaculate. He makes a mental note to compliment Mrs. Brewer since Patrick had mentioned she loves gardening and takes pride in her curb appeal, even though Mr. Brewer is the one who does all the mowing. David’s also seen her Pinterest board. 

“What do you think?” Patrick asks as he undoes his seatbelt. 

David grins widely over at him. “It’s very you.”

“Is it now?” 

“It is! It’s homey, it’s welcoming. It’s nothing like where I grew up.” 

There’s a shift in the air despite David’s joking tone and Patrick can clearly sense it. His smile falters and there’s a flash of sympathy in his eyes as he places a hand on the back of David’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. 

David squeezes his eyes shut when they pull apart just to steady himself for a minute. When he opens them, Patrick gives him a curt nod. 

“Ready?’

“Yeah,” David breathes.

They step into the warm daylight. The air smells faintly of jasmine and yep, that’s it. David Rose feels so warm and fuzzy it should be illegal. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s wearing a thick cable-knit sweater in warm weather.

Patrick slams the trunk shut just as the front door to the house opens. Mrs. Brewer is rushing across the driveway toward her son. Patrick meets her halfway, and pulls her into a hug, swaying on the spot. He moves to his father next. 

Mrs. Brewer makes a beeline for David.

“It’s so good to see you, David! We’re just so happy you boys are here!” 

Just when David’s beginning to feel a little out of place, there’s Marcy Brewer making him feel welcome. 

She puts her hands on his face, beaming up at him. 

David smiles, “Thank you for having us.” 

Mr. Brewer shakes his hand. “Hope the drive wasn't too long. Did you two hit any traffic on the way down?”

Patrick shakes his head. “No, it was smooth sailing. Stopped once for gas and snacks,” he throws a glance toward David, “but other than that we made it here in record time.”

David wrings his hands together. “We ran out of Twizzlers.” 

Patrick bumps his hip as he comes up beside him. “All right, lead the way. I’m sure David’s itching for the grand tour.” 

Mr. Brewer takes the bags from them both. He heads inside first, up and away somewhere, David assumes Patrick’s old room. 

The inside is somehow even homier than he even imagined. As neat as everything is, David can tell this house is well lived-in. He can see the things that make it Patrick’s home as well as his parents’. 

For one, there are four baseball trophies decorating the bookshelf in the living room. And Patrick’s actual childhood baseball mitt - which is  _ very  _ small in comparison to the one he uses now - is on display on the mantle. The glove’s well-worn, the leather curling in dulled patches, and the laces look a bit tattered. There’s a citrus-scented candle from the store set up there, too, and by the looks of it, it’s well-used.

It makes him happy knowing the things they’ve sent to the Brewers are being put to use.

Spotting them from across the room, David giddily rushes to the line of picture frames that sit on a shelf by the TV. There’s a picture of the Brewers on their wedding day - they look youthful and gorgeous.  _ They still kind of do _ , David admits to himself. 

Aside from that, there are multiple photographs of Patrick. One of a grumpy-looking toddler with an oversized baseball cap, head in his hands as he sits on a patio step. Next to it sits a photo of him with a wide grin showing off his missing front teeth. David plucks that frame off the shelf and turns to Patrick, who looks a little sheepish. 

“I  _ love _ this one,” holding the frame out for his fiancé to see. 

“You can have that one if you’d like,” comes Mrs. Brewer’s voice at his shoulder. It’s cheery and a little teasing.  _ That’s where Patrick gets it from,  _ David thinks.

“I might take you up on that.” David places it back carefully. He gasps at the next two.

In a joint-frame is a photo of Patrick in his high school baseball uniform. It’s an action shot of him up at bat. But the photo in the next slot has David’s jaw dropping.

“Oh my god your  _ hair!”  _

A college-aged Patrick is smiling up at him from where he sits on a concrete wall between two people, his arms around their shoulders. His hair is long and curly, a piece drops right onto his forehead. He’s wearing loose-fitting jeans and sneakers and a green hoodie. It might be a young version, but Patrick is wearing the same smile. 

“Those are his cousins on Clint’s side,” his mother notes. “That’s Paige and that’s Mitchell. It was taken in Toronto the summer before Patrick’s second year of college.” 

Mr. Brewer comes into the living room then. He laughs when he sees the frame David’s holding.

“It used to be so long,” he notes his son’s hair, clapping Patrick on the shoulder. “It looked good, I don’t know why you cut it.” 

“Because I only had so much patience for it,” Patrick states. He crosses his arms. 

David points to it. “Can you grow your hair out like this again?” 

He thinks about it for a second; his fiancé with much longer, much  _ curlier  _ hair. He imagines running his fingers through it, tugging at a ringlet and watching it bounce. He thinks about Patrick wearing those wool beanies in the winter, his hair tousled from being trapped underneath. David’s stomach gives an excited swoop at the thought.

Patrick’s head falls. “David!”

“What? You look great with long hair!” 

“Only one of us can spend a long time in the bathroom, and you already have that title.” 

David scoffs, defensively. “Right, but when you shave you add, like, fifteen minutes to your routine.”

Patrick seemingly ignores the teasing comment. “I was also, like, twenty there. I don’t think it would work now.” 

“It totally could!” 

“I will think about it,” Patrick says, “but I’m not making any promises.”

Satisfied with that answer, David returns the frame to its spot on the shelf. Patrick comes up and loops an arm around his waist. 

His mother smiles at them both. “All we need now is a picture of the two of you.” 

He looks at Patrick with a pinched smile. “O-okay.”

Noticing his flush, Patrick leans up and kisses David’s cheek, which only makes his face more red.

“Oh! Patrick, I was going to mail these to you.” Mr. Brewer steps off into the dining room for a second. He comes back with a flat shipping envelope. “I found your spare guitar strings when I was in the basement last week. Figured I’d just give them to you now.” 

Patrick peers inside the envelope. “I didn’t realize I had so many extra packs. Thanks, Dad.” He turns to David. “I’m going to put these in my bag. Want to come with? I’ll show you the rest of the house.” 

David nods.

“Bags are already in your room,” Mr. Brewer confirms. 

Patrick takes David’s hand. The rest of the house is just as well-decorated as the living room and glance of the dining room he had gotten. There are more photos lining the walls of all three of them; vacations, graduations, what David assumes is a framed holiday card from when Patrick was in his teens.

Patrick points out the bathroom - “My parents have their own, don’t worry about rushing to get ready for bed tonight.” - and the home office. 

He pats on a narrow door between the bathroom and the office. “And this is where the ghosts are.” 

David stiffens on the spot. “So I know you’re joking, but I will literally never be able to sleep again if you’re not.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows in response. 

“Don’t.”

He opens the door to reveal stacks of folded towels and spare bed sheets. “It’s just the linen closet.” 

“Oh, good.” 

“Yeah, the ghosts live in the attic.”

_ “Patrick.”  _ It earns David a laugh.

They finally get to a white door with a chip in the molding.

Patrick swings it open to reveal a neutral-colored room with a queen-size bed, fluffy navy blue duvet and matching pillow cases. Excluding some memorabilia, Patrick’s room is less-so his, and more-so a converted second bedroom. Where David assumes there would have been posters or something on the walls, there are two matching landscape art prints hanging there.

“This was my room,” Patrick announces, a little hesitantly. “Now the guest room.” 

David closes the door behind them. He watches Patrick look around the room, watches as he tucks the envelope his dad gave him into his bag. 

For a second, they both stand there without saying anything else. David takes in the room around him; it’s tasteful and warm. He thinks Patrick might be a little off-center about it, hence his silence. 

David slides his palm up Patrick's back until it reaches the spot between his shoulder blades and rubs gentle circles with his thumb until he turns to face him. David angles his head down until their foreheads meet and he kisses him slowly, gently. It’s a dizzying and intoxicating kiss, Patrick’s kisses always are. 

When he pulls away, Patrick’s eyes are soft. 

David rubs at his shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you looked a little lost for a second,” he sighs. 

Patrick shrugs. “I guess it’s a little weird to see it so…not me.” He pauses to look around again. David follows his eyes to the refinished dresser under the expanse of windows. “I mean, this is all years-old at this point. My parents did this after I moved in with Rachel, but it’s still a little weird. Part of me always kind of expects to walk back in here and see posters everywhere and my records set up in a corner, my baseball bat leaning somewhere.” 

David guides him over to the bed. He takes a seat, keeping Patrick standing between his legs. He gives his hands a squeeze and says, “Tell me about it. Tell me about your room.”

Patrick doesn’t look at him. “Alright.”

“Was it blue?” 

That gets Patrick to laugh.  _ Success _ . “Yes. It was a light blue, always was. I had two Blue Jays posters on that wall,” he points to the wall behind him. “And above my bed was a Neil Young poster.” 

Patrick turns around, but he keeps one hand in David’s. “My record player used to sit on the dresser and the racks were…in that corner right there. Most of them were my Dad’s or one of his brother’s.”

“What records did you have?”

“Pretty much what I have now,” Patrick starts. “A few Beatles records. Um, Neil Young, obviously, Leonard Cohen. My dad had two or three Dean Martin albums that he gave to me one year, Fleetwood Mac, too.”

David hums, “Stevie Nicks.”

“Of course.”

David likes seeing Patrick reminisce like this. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that's making him fall in love all over again. 

“Is this the same bed you always had?” He pats at the bedspread. 

“It is.”

David’s wearing a mischievous grin when he asks, “And did anything fun happen in it?”

Patrick goes beet red. “Yeah, on occasion,” he admits. “A lot of messy make out sessions.”

“Mh. And heavy-petting.” He clasps his hands together, squinting. Patrick looks a little deflated at the comment but he gets an eye-roll in return, so it works out. 

David purses his lips. “Besides girls, were there ever any boys that you wanted to come up here with?” 

Patrick hesitates and for a moment David thinks he’s gone too far. Just as he’s about to backpedal, however, Patrick speaks up. 

“I’m not sure. I don’t really think I understood what that was at the time, you know?”

David nods along. 

“But there  _ is _ one guy,” Patrick continues, his voice quieter. “and he’s here now, so.” 

David places his hands flat on the bed beside him. “I love you, but I’m not doing anything with your parents in the next room over. There's a reason I have a ‘No sex at the motel’ rule. I almost walked in on Alexis and Ted once, like six months ago. And there was a  _ very  _ awkward encounter when I was hooking up with Jake.” David shudders, one hand gesturing in a little circle. “My parents and my sister all came into the room after he got out of the shower. He was shirtless, and Alexis is kind of a bitch, so."

Patrick shrugs. “I mean, we could be quiet.” 

David’s hands find his way to Patrick’s waist. “Yeah, no. I’ll settle on making out like teenagers, but we’re not having sex here.”

He’s smiling as Patrick leans down and whispers and “Okay,” against his lips. 

“Anyway,” he continues, spinning back toward the dresser. “My guitar was always right here next to my record stand. My hamper was in the closet and always overflowing, because that’s what you do when you’re in high school. Throw stuff in until your mom comes and yells at you to do your laundry.” 

David laughs a little. When he was growing up, he just had to drop his less-delicate things in a hamper and they'd be clean and put away the following morning thanks to his parents’ abundance of housekeepers. 

“Yeah, remember that you and I had  _ very  _ different teenage experiences.” 

“Yeah. Hey,” Patrick sitting down next to David, “I’m really happy we came to visit them. I missed them a lot.” 

“I know you did,” He presses his lips to Patrick’s temple twice. 

“Really, I’m good, I promise you.” Patrick leans into his side, smiling. “I’m happy that you're with me, and I’m happy that you insisted we do this.”

“Of course.” David brings a hand up to the back of Patrick's head, letting his fingers trail through the short hair. 

“I still think you should grow your hair out,” David states. 

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?” 

He plays with the sleeve of Patrick’s green crewneck, smirking. “Nope.” 

“Maybe  _ after  _ the wedding,” Patrick says after a moment. “I’d prefer not to look like a total maniac in our wedding photos.”

“You wouldn't look like a maniac. Who ever said you looked like a maniac?”

“Me. When I finally decided to cut it short.” 

David gives him a look.

“It was partially because I was getting annoyed with it and partially because I had a job interview and wanted to look presentable.” 

“I can respect that,” David says. “But I don’t really think the people you work with now would mind if you did, though.” He brushes a hand through Patrick's hair in emphasis. 

Patrick pushes him. “Let’s go back downstairs before my mom calls for us.” 

David trails behind him, remembering to grab the bottle of wine from his bag for the Brewers.

“You know, I bet your mom would agree with me.”

“David, don’t make this weird.” 

“I’m not!”

Something in the kitchen smells  _ amazing.  _ It’s olive oil, rosemary, and parmesan cheese David realizes when he sees Mrs. Brewer pull a tray of fingerling potatoes from the oven. She gives the tray a good shake, shifting the potatoes around so they don’t stick. The oil sizzles as she pops them back in. 

“You boys all settled?” She wipes her hands on a dishtowel that’s sitting on the counter. Butcher’s block, David notes.  _ Nice. _

“Yeah, we’re good, Mom.” Patrick looks past her through the expansive kitchen window. “Hey, you guys set up the fire pit!” 

His mother looks out with him. “We did! It took a little while because your father needed to replace the stonework around it, but it’s good to go. I figured that we could use it tonight.” 

There’s a sense of familial love that makes something in the pit of David’s stomach long for. Maybe it’s the idea of sitting by a fire with the Brewers drinking wine or making s’mores or doing whatever normal families do that excites him a little bit.

“Speaking of,” she speaks up again. “Patrick, why don’t you help Dad with the grill while David and I prep some of the other things for dinner.”

“Oh, I don't think you want me to cook,” David laughs, waving his hands, “just ask Patrick.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Patrick counters. “You made that great lemon pasta last week. And you even paired a great wine with it.” 

David ignores Mrs. Brewer’s proud smile and says, “I was following a step-by-step Bon Appétit recipe, and it was foolproof. Also, I know how to pair wine with things. I have exquisite taste.” He angles his head back, a little embarrassed at his comment. So much for feigning selflessness.

Patrick hums. “That you do,” he says with his lips pressed to his cheek.

“Well we’re not cooking a four-course meal,” Mrs. Brewer says as she places two stacked glass bowls onto the counter. David smiles. “But I do need help with some sides; asparagus, string beans, I need to sauté the peppers and onions for the sausage, too.” 

“Okay.” He bites back his smile. 

“Great!” She steps over to the fridge and pulls out a big tray of sausage links and hamburger patties to hand to her son. “Patrick, go ahead and take this out to your father. He's cleaning the grill and he's already got a beer out there for you.” 

She gives her son a kiss on the cheek and sends him on his way, Patrick raising his eyebrows at David as he leaves.

Remembering the bottle that’s in his hands, David delicately places it on the counter, albeit a little nervously. “This is for you, Mrs. Brewer. From the store. It’s a really good bottle of shiraz from one of our suppliers.”

“Thank you, David,” she smiles. “we’ll have it with dinner. And please call me Marcy. Mrs. Brewer sounds too formal.”

David clears his throat. Marcy Brewer really is one-of-a-kind when it comes to making people feel so welcome and comfortable. 

He plants his hands firmly on his hips, determined, “What do you need help with?”

“Well,” she pulls out a stool and gestures for him to sit. “Everything's all washed, we just need to cut the ends off the greens and then I’ll just toss them in the oven until they’re done. Black pepper, some sea salt, and a little bit of olive oil is all we need for them.” 

While David gets to cutting the ends off the string beans, tossing the discarded bits into a spare bowl, Marcy gets to sautéing the peppers and onions over the stove. 

He had forgotten how methodical it is to cut and prep vegetables for a dish. He’d done it a few times when he lived alone and didn’t order takeout, and when David was much younger he would help Adelina or one of his father’s personal chefs in the kitchen.

“I spent a lot of time alone in New York,” David says, out of the blue. He shocks himself with his own statement and bites his tongue for a second, thinking that maybe he can pretend that he didn't just say that. But Marcy’s looking at him over her shoulder. He suddenly feels comfortable enough so he continues. 

“I did a bit of cooking, but it was all really basic, boring stuff.”

“Do you like cooking? I see your Pinterest boards, you know.”

“I really like food,” he laughs, and Marcy laughs along with him. “And my Pinterest boards are very ambitious.”

“Well I don't blame you.” She sets the cast-iron pan aside and covers it so everything stays hot. “Maybe it’s my maternal instinct, but I find so much comfort in cooking. When I was growing up we had this big kitchen, Patrick’s grandmother would set up stations at the table and we’d all have a role when it came to making dinner on Sunday nights. I’m one of four -- two sisters and one brother -- so sometimes it took a lot of corralling to get us to cooperate.” 

David loves how easy it is to imagine Marcy cooking with Patrick and Clint (he can say Clint, right?) weekly as well. A much younger Patrick mixing something together while his parents did the more adult tasks like working over the stove or using the knives. Maybe they had a family pizza-making night. 

“We never really had any of that,” David mutters, and he’s smiling, though the notion's a little sad. “We were always doing our own thing. A lot of the time my parents were out, too.”

Marcy’s face falls a little bit from where she stands across the island. “Is it something you wanted?”

“I didn’t think about it much until we moved to Schitt’s Creek and were all thrust together in that tiny motel room.” He shrugs. “Actually, there was this one time where my mom got the grand idea to cook dinner and somehow I got commandeered into helping out. It was a mess. But, no one got food poisoning so I’d give us a solid D-minus.” 

That gets Marcy to smile again. David slides the glass bowl forward, now filled to the brim with chopped bits of asparagus and string beans. She takes them from him, mixes in the seasoning and dumps them on a tray which she trades out for the potatoes in the oven. 

She makes haste in uncorking the bottle of wine and pouring out two glasses. “I don't think the boys will take much notice if we start on this without them.” She passes a glass to David with a wink. 

His mouth twists into a shy smile as he takes a sip. Looking over her shoulder, David sees pictures and invitations hanging on the fridge. Of course the Brewer household would have a fridge decorated with grocery lists and cheesy magnets. He spots the notecard with the Rose Apothecary logo that they put into every order. 

David's eyes flick to the picture next to it.

“Is that Patrick with a guitar?” 

Marcy spins on her barstool. “Yeah, he used to play these open mics all the time at this little--”

“--Café,” he finishes. She’s looking at him again, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “He told me about it. We had one back at the store when we first started dating and, uh…Patrick insisted on playing.” 

Marcy doesn’t say anything, she’s smiling, so David continues. “That was the first time he ever sang to me. I mean, I didn’t even  _ know  _ he could sing or play guitar. I didn’t know what to expect! I thought I was going to be embarrassed from mediocre performances. But then Patrick stepped on stage and--” He throws his hands out in front of him, palms-up. “--he  _ sang.  _ To me. There were other people in the room but he was singing to me. And it turns out he has an incredible voice.”

“He does,” Marcy agrees, looking a little nostalgic, “My boy has the sweetest voice.”

David plays with his engagement rings. “It was a really emotional night. And my  _ mom  _ was there,” he shudders. “That was the first time I realized how good your son is. Like, I always knew, but I mean that's when I  _ really  _ knew. That’s when I knew that things with Patrick were different, and I knew that I could let myself be vulnerable around him. I didn’t have to hide anything. I used to hide  _ everything.”  _

He swipes at his eye. “There’s this leather jacket I have that I would put on in another life and just...transform you know? The jacket was this mask I would just put on to play myself up for a little while, be someone I’m not.” David looks anywhere but Marcy. “I don’t have to do that with Patrick. It was really unhealthy. I knew that at the time but I didn’t accept it until, like, after I met Stevie, if you remember her.” He laughs wetly. 

“So, I’ve never had that -  _ this,”  _ he gestures vaguely, “- with other people.” David’s voice is thick. “I’m really lucky to have him in my life, and I’m really lucky to be marrying him. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” 

David shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I’m word-vomiting,” he says. “This isn’t a therapy session. You found out that your only son was gay just a few months ago, and between then and now we’ve gotten engaged. It’s all so untraditional, too. Like, we don’t even live together - not  _ officially _ , I mean nine times out of ten I’m at Patrick’s. And we’ll obviously be moving in together at some point. I actually thought we were looking for a place together when he looked at his apartment.

“I’m sorry if this is all so shocking to you and Clint, or if it’s all happening so fast…" David stops when Marcy cups her hands over his on the countertop. 

All Marcy Brewer has done for the last five minutes is listen to him intently and now, just by a comforting touch, she’s bringing him back down to earth before he can tailspin into a hyperventilating panic induced by embarrassment. She’s good, she’s really good.

“David, honey,” she begins, sincerely. “You make Patrick happy. Happier than he's ever been. I told you when we met, Clint and I aren't upset about him being gay. Do you know why?”

David only blinks.

“It's because all we have ever wanted for our son is for him to be happy and comfortable with who he is. Success, to us, is happiness, and seeing him so happy means Clint and I have done something right. 

“Pacing is one thing, but to hell with that.” She waves a hand. “He is so,  _ so  _ in love with you, David. I can see it from miles away. If my son is happy, and if you make him happy - which I already know you do - then that is all that matters.” 

She gives his hands a squeeze and says, “You're part of our family now, so don't you dare be shy with us. Anytime you need  _ anything _ I’m just a text or a phone call away. I want to get to know my son-in-law better. Okay? Three days every few months isn’t enough for us to do that. We’ll work something out and if it's alright by you, maybe we can come up to help you two with the wedding?” 

David’s grinning from ear-to-ear, cheeks tear-stained. “We’d really like that,” he whispers. 

“Good.” Marcy stands up from her spot at the counter. What she does next only partially shocks David. 

She drops a kiss to his hair.

His chest tightens a little with happiness.

“Now, we have one last thing to prep before dinner.” She wipes her hands together. 

David stumbles over a laugh. “What’s that?” 

“I’m going to teach you how to make one of Patrick’s favorite desserts.” Marcy lifts a brown paper bag from where it sits by the sink and carries it back over to their cutting board set-up. David peers inside, there are at least a dozen apples. 

“An apple crumb slab tart.”

“That sounds ambitious.” He tilts his chin up, squinting.

“It's really not that hard to make.” Marcy begins pulling out the ingredients - brown sugar, cinnamon, sea salt, flour - and setting them each on the counter. “I have vanilla ice cream in the freezer to serve with it later, and…” She pulls out an amber-colored bottle of bourbon from under the counter. “The secret ingredient.” 

David’s eyebrows shoot up. “Um, yes!” He takes the apples over to the sink and starts to rinse them. He gets into a meditative rhythm, washing the apples under cool water for a few minutes as Marcy starts on the pie crust. He smiles at her over his shoulder. 

“You know, I'm not sure if Patrick ever told you this,” Marcy says as she sets an apple corer next to him. “but the morning we left after we came for his birthday, he told us he was going to propose to you.” 

David nearly drops the apple he’s holding. “H-he did?”

Marcy’s eyes sparkle as she recounts the conversation. “He specifically said,  _ ‘I’m going to marry him. I’m going to ask David to marry me.’”  _

He starts blinking rapidly. He swears if he starts crying again...

“And you…?”

“Oh, honey I was so happy to hear him say that.”

“But with Rachel-”  _ Oh, so that’s happening now. _

“David, please don’t compare yourself to her. She’s a lovely girl, really she is, but she clearly never made my Patrick as happy as he is with you. It’s an exponential difference. I see how you two are together; Patrick’s happiness is so different now, and you can tell because there is nothing holding him back.” 

David braces himself on the counter, but he’s smiling. He wishes, just for a second, that he met the Brewers years ago, wishes that he knew their warmth and hospitality and their acceptance earlier in his life. David wishes he met Patrick earlier, too, but he doesn’t dwell on it all too long - like he said after the housewarming party, their paths crossed at the right time. 

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

David snaps his head up and nods, brows up by his hairline. “Yes, yeah. I am, I really am. I’m happy we found each other when we did.” His voice gets a little tight at the end there, he clears his throat. “Okay, let’s keep going with this apple thing before I cry myself into a puddle with all this sentimentality.” 

\--

“I think you were nine or ten when that happened.” 

Clint’s recounting a story from Patrick’s childhood about the time he was tasked by a neighbor to feed their cat. The aforementioned cat had apparently proceeded to escape through the back door and race down the street while Patrick bolted after him. 

“Hey, I caught him eventually.”

“With my help,” his father teases. 

“Okay,” Patrick grins. “But which one of us climbed under the Canton’s deck to get Reggie?”

“That would be me because you were afraid there were mice.” 

“That is not true!” Patrick throws his hands up in exasperation. “I’m the one that grabbed him!”

“Yes, by the back legs.” Clint leans back in his chair, and Patrick just shakes his head.

David’s enjoying this all too much as he laughs over his second glass of wine. He feels a little warm and fuzzy, but he’ll chalk that up to the wine if anyone asks. 

Dinner was  _ excellent,  _ and filled with banter and stories just like the one being told. He loves it, the casual reminiscing of Patrick’s childhood; it’s charming, and certainly unlike his own, what with Alexis being a total pest and their mother teaching him (unwillingly) how to properly handle her wigs. 

Marcy makes a stand to start collecting the dishes, one by one, stacking the extra bowls together.

“Do you want any help taking stuff in, Mom?”

Marcy declines. “No, go get the firepit going. I’ll make some tea, give me a few minutes.”

Clint stands as well. “I guess that’s my cue to grab some blankets?” He looks toward his wife, who nods. 

“I’ll start the fire, then.” Patrick reaches out a hand to help David up. “Grab a chair.” 

They place four chairs around the stonework, and David sets two very close together. He knows the armrests will be digging uncomfortably into his ribs sooner or later as he snuggles up with Patrick, but he really just doesn’t care. He’s too blissed-out.

Marcy returns eventually with a tray of mugs and sets it on the long folding table Patrick grabbed with one of the chairs.

The fire’s roaring and the sun is far enough behind that trees that a cool shadow is being cast over them all. Marcy comes back outside one last time with the tray of apple slab, cutlery and plates. Patrick’s already draped a thick blanket around the both of them. 

“David helped with this one,” she announces cheerily.

David glances over just in time to catch Patrick’s thrilled expression. “Did you now?” 

“Just a bit. I peeled the apples.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, David, you made the topping too.” She passes them each a plate already topped with vanilla ice cream. 

“This looks amazing.” Patrick moves his hand from where it’s resting on David’s thigh to take a bite. “Oh man.”

“How’d I do?” David’s smirking, he can’t help it. 

“It’s amazing.” 

Patrick’s right. It’s  _ divine.  _ Can you even use that to describe food? David doesn’t care - he’s going to. 

“Mom, you have to give us the recipe.”

“I already have it printed out for you both. David’s done it once, he can do it again.”

“Not without your supervision,” he jokes, turning to Patrick. “I’m not going to risk burning down your building.”

Patrick rubs at the back of David’s neck. “Again with the lack of confidence.”

“David I have full faith in you,” Marcy smiles. “Just remember the bourbon.”

Clint slaps his knee with a gasp. “So  _ that’s  _ what it is! I think we’ve solved it, Patrick.”

There’s a beat, and then David says, “Yeah, so I love your mom.” 

Clint laughs softly. “Well that makes-” he points to himself, then David and Patrick. “-three of us, then.” 

Marcy swats and his arm, it’s endearing, and that fuzzy feeling is back in David’s chest again. 

Patrick takes their plates once they’ve both polished off the pie. He sets them down and pulls David in as close as the chairs can allow. His parents are going on about something in regards to the neighbors, but they’re not focusing on that. 

“What do you think,” Patrick whispers. He doesn’t break eye contact with David. “Nothing to be nervous about, right?”

David hums. “No, I guess not.” 

Patrick’s looking at his lips longingly, like he always does before they kiss, so David leans in. Patrick tastes sweet and sticky from the apples and vanilla ice cream. There’s nothing fancy or hot about it, but David’s melting into the kiss, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Patrick pulls back too soon for his liking, and while David makes a noise in protest, they really shouldn’t put on too much of a show in front of his parents. 

David rests his head on Patrick’s shoulder, eyes drifting shut for a moment. 

“Any plans for tomorrow, boys?”

He can feel Patrick shrug beneath him. “I was thinking of showing David around, maybe drive down to the lake or something.” When David gives him a look, he adds, “Don’t worry, we’re not going in.”

“The lake,” Clint straightens a little in his chair. “It’s been a long time since you’ve gone there.” 

“I figured since it was a big part of my childhood,” Patrick begins, “I’d show David.”

“That makes sense,” Clint nods. “The farmers market is tomorrow. I’m sure Schitt’s Creek has their fair share, but ours isn’t too bad, either.” 

David sits up at that. “That sounds nice.” He turns to Clint, squinting a little. “Um, are there baked goods or should I anticipate a bunch of produce?”

Patrick laughs, David ignores it.

“It’s a healthy mix,” Marcy affirms. “It’s lovely, you two should really check it out tomorrow.”

David’s hand finds Patrick’s in his lap and links their fingers together.

“Would be nice,” Patrick says. “Who knows, maybe we’ll find something for the store.” 

“Patrick, think about something other than work for ten seconds.”

“What? We’re bound to run into someone that’s going to ask what we do,” he defends. 

David’s stomach swoops a bit at that indication. Right, they’re in Patrick’s hometown. Patrick knows people here, other than his parents. Like old classmates and friends and exes. 

Patrick squeezes his fingers in reassurance. “It’ll be fine.” His smile calms David’s nerves. “We’ll have fun tomorrow.” 

David smirks. “You’re bringing me to wherever you played the baseball, aren’t you?”

“Hey, you hit that home run.” He dives right into the baseball story for his parents, David interjecting with comments on how competitive Patrick had gotten, and when he tells them about his Dad throwing the ball right into the center of his back, they all laugh.

It circles around like that for a while, more stories about their childhoods (and one about Alexis deciding to take her mattress down the stairs a-la Princess Diaries 2) until the fire goes low and they turn in for the evening.

Later, when David returns from the bathroom dewy-faced and ready for bed, Patrick’s upright against the pillows with his nose in a book. He climbs under the covers next to him and settles into his side.

Despite the shower, Patrick still smells a little bit like woodsmoke and it’s intoxicating. David takes the book from his hands and kisses him senseless. It only lasts for a few minutes before it gets a little too deep, what with David’s hand finding its way under Patrick’s shirt. 

Between soft laughter, Patrick says, “You said it yourself, David. My parents are in the next room.” 

He reaches over to turn out the light as David swats at him. 

“Did I or did I not say I was up for making out like teenagers?”

“You did,” Patrick says. He paws for him in the dark, and David lets himself be pulled down.

They’re just a mess of tangled limbs and bedsheets and echoing laughter for a while. Making out like teenagers, be damned. David’s making out with his soon-to-be husband. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David blinks. “He does miraculously know my very complicated coffee order by heart, so I think I’ll keep him.” 
> 
> “Well I stand by what I said, and for that alone I think you’re a very nice person.” 
> 
> He starts a little. “Very nice,” he echoes. “Yeah, I’m gonna need that in writing. I need to rub that in your son’s face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading the comments yesterday made me so happy. I'm thrilled this fic is so well-received!

David is up before Patrick the next morning.

He’s unsure if it’s a noise that wakes him or the fact that he’s in an unfamiliar bed. But after an hour of tossing and turning and trying his very best not to disturb Patrick, he decides to get up.

He skips his morning routine, at least for now, pulls on his slippers, grabs his phone, and heads down to the kitchen.

The house is very quiet, save for the ticking of the antique clock on the mantelpiece. The Brewers, David assumes if Patrick’s routine is anything to go by, are probably early risers.

He doesn’t do much, can’t do much, really, since he doesn’t want to make too much noise in a house that isn’t his. So he pads around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets as softly as he possibly can to locate the coffee grounds. He hits the jackpot with the brown sugar and cinnamon he finds.

David adds a little milk to his mug, replaces everything and sets the drip to “warm” so it’ll be ready for whoever wakes up next. He settles himself into a chair on the front porch with his feet tucked beneath him, sunlight casting itself over the rooftops of the houses across the street.

He busies himself by scrolling through the store’s email and replying to the few texts he has from Stevie knowing that Patrick will come find him eventually. 

**_Stevie [8:28 P.M.]_ **

**_took home a btl of red. and a body milk. and massage oil._ **

**_yes the store is fine._ **

**_no promises i won’t drink the milk tho. planning on getting v drunk._ **

**_Stevie [10:56 P.M.]_ **

**_what if i showed up to jake’s in this? hot right?_ **

David rolls his eyes at the picture she sent. Stevie’s wearing her burlesque costume from  _ Cabaret,  _ a pair of baggy joggers underneath and holding the open bottle of wine.

**_[7:32 A.M.]_ **

**_ok so that’s coming out of your pay._ **

**_also lose the sweats and the bra thanks._ **

He stretches against the chair, back cracking. His phone buzzes with a response from Stevie. It’s uncharacteristically early for either of them to even be functioning right now.

**_Stevie [7:40 A.M.]_ **

**_wtf r u doing up rn?_ **

**_[7:41 A.M.]_ **

**_couldn’t sleep, patrick’s still upstairs and I got restless._ **

**_wait did you wander over to jake’s? please tell me you’re texting me while doing a walk of shame!_ **

**_Stevie [7:46 A.M.]_ **

**_no i have to be at the motel at 8:30. and i wasn’t drunk enough._ **

**_sent spicy pics tho._ **

**_[7:47 A.M._ **

**_you’re 12._ **

**_I hope you weren’t wearing a bra._ **

**_Stevie [7:50 A.M.]_ **

**_guess you’ll nvr know_ **

**_how r the ‘rents?_ **

**_[7:52 A.M.]_ **

**_‘rents?’ what is this 2009?_ **

**_they’re lovely. patrick’s showing me around town today._ **

**_Stevie [7:55 A.M.]_ **

**_lol u better send baby pics! i need blackmail!_ **

**_i have urs thx 2 alexis._ **

**_[8:00]_ **

**_I hope you both get stranded in the ocean._ **

**_Stevie [8:02]_ **

**_nah u would miss us. ;-)_ **

“Mind if I join you?” 

David’s pulled from his reverie by Clint standing at the front door, a cup of coffee in-hand. He sets his phone aside and nods at him.

They settle into a comfortable silence, both men basking in the crispness of the early morning air. 

“Thanks for the coffee,” Clint gestures to his mug.

“I can’t function without it,” David replies and takes a long sip.

“Guilty as charged. Patrick’s never really liked it.” 

David hums at the truth of that statement. He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen Patrick drink coffee, and two of those was when he accidentally drank from David’s cup instead of his own.

“I sit out here almost every morning I’m able.” Clint takes a drink from his mug. There’s a reminiscing smile on his lips. “It’s a nice way to start the day. It’s quiet, no one’s really up yet.” 

“Patrick gets that from you, huh?”

“I suppose he gets it from both of us, really. It was never an issue getting him up for school in the morning.” 

David presses a hand over his eyes and laughs. “We’re polar opposites.” 

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” 

“No, I know,” David removes his hand. “I know it’s not. It’s just incredibly rare that I’m even out of bed before, like, nine.” He attempts to hide a shy smile in his mug. 

Clint laughs. “Ah, here’s a story for you, speaking of early risers.” He sets his mug aside and points out to the street. “When Patrick was six, all of his friends were learning to ride their bikes without training wheels. And one morning, I swear it had to be seven-thirty, he wakes me up and demands I take them off his bike.”

“At seven-thirty,” David repeats.

“Yep. I convinced him to at least eat breakfast first, but by eight we were outside and I was chasing him up and down the street so he didn’t crash or fall over. Patrick refused to even come inside for lunch until he managed to make it around the block at least once without me holding on to the back.”

David’s on the edge of his seat as he listens intently to the story, a smile splaying across his face. 

“He only fell once, and the next weekend we were riding around the park together, all three of us.” 

David shakes his head slowly as he mulls over the story. “If he wants something, he really goes for it. He has not changed.”

“And that, specifically, he gets from his mother,” Clint states. 

“Okay,” David grips his mug. “Want to know a secret?”

“Go ahead.” 

David purses his lips before starting, “I didn’t learn how to ride a bike until three years ago. Patrick doesn’t know that, in fact I’m not even sure he  _ knows  _ that I can ride a bike. I mean, not well, but unless my sister or our friend Stevie told him about that fiasco, he has no clue.” He taps the armrest in emphasis. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, David.” Clint raises his mug at him. 

“You know,” he continues after a moment, “it’s really nice to see Patrick so open again.”

David’s mouth hangs agape, the prior sentence left hanging in the air.

“Our son’s back. He’s himself again. Patrick’s happy, but it still breaks my heart knowing that for so long we missed just how  _ un _ happy he must have been.” 

Clint lets out a long breath and shakes his head. David can see the tears beginning to rim at his eyes. “I can tell that you’ve helped each other. You’re good for each other.”

David blinks. “He  _ does  _ miraculously know my very complicated coffee order by heart, so I think I’ll keep him.” 

“Well I stand by what I said, and for that alone I think you’re a very nice person.” 

He starts a little. “Very nice,” he echoes. “Yeah, I’m gonna need that in writing. I need to rub that in your son’s face.” 

They share a laugh, a soft but genuine bonding moment. David shifts so he can face the street again as Clint’s hand comes up to his shoulder. He gives it a squeeze.

“I’m happy that you’re joining our family, David,” he says, both his voice and expression sincere.

David swallows hard, lips pursed. “Me, too.” 

“There you two are.” 

Marcy steps onto the porch clad in a robe, she’s leaning against the glass storm door to hold it open. Patrick’s right behind her, face still sleep-worn and hair mussed up. 

“I was going to make coffee but I see someone’s already beaten me to it.”

“That was David’s doing,” Clint says.

“I’ll get started on breakfast,” Marcy decides as she steps back into the house. Patrick slinks past her to join them outside. 

Clint stands then, offering Patrick his chair. “I’ll go help. Be back in a bit.” 

The door swings closed, and Patrick leans over to kiss David’s cheek. “You’re up early.” His voice is low and gravelly. 

David shrugs, cupping the mug in both hands. “Your dad and I had a nice talk.”

Patrick hums, “What about?”

“You and your embarrassing childhood moments.” 

“Right, well since you’re up so early, I guess we can head out around ten.” Patrick reaches over to brush his fingers through David’s hair. 

“Mh, this is a one-time thing. Don’t expect it to happen again.” 

\--

The market is notably packed for a Saturday morning. David struggles a bit to keep up with Patrick as they weave through the crowd of people, he eventually opts to grab onto his shoulders from behind.

David tugs Patrick to a stop just as they pass a flower stall. “Wait, I want to bring something back to the house.” He walks around the displays of barrels to peruse the selections more carefully.

He passes on the fresh hydrangeas and yellow tulips, and when he comes across a few very avant-garde bundles of dried chilis and tiny daffodils, he shoots Patrick a look. 

“What do you think of these?” He holds up a bouquet of dried pale gerber daisies and mixed wildflowers wrapped in brown paper. Patrick’s looking at him with a certain fondness in his eyes that David’s learned is reserved only for him. 

He feels a little gooey inside. 

“What?”

Patrick blinks, “What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” David fails to push down his amusement. 

Patrick walks up to him, looping his arms around his waist. David lifts the bouquet slightly to avoid crushing it between them. “I just really like watching my fiancé when he’s in his element.” 

David juts his chin up, curious. “What do you mean?”

“You get this little smile when you’re trying to find something absolutely perfect. And when you do, your eyes light up.” Patrick squeezes his hips. “It’s very cute.”

A thrill of warmth runs through him and he tosses his head back, feigning dramatics. 

“That’s a given and you’re a sap,” David whispers, and he leans down just enough to brush their lips together. “So, is that a yes to the flowers then…?”

“Mom will love them.” 

Patrick’s hand doesn’t leave David’s waist while they pay. 

As the vendor gets their change, David tips his head back just slightly to tap against Patrick’s.

“I think we passed a stall that sells sourdough pretzels,” he says emphatically as they begin walking into the main thoroughfare. He tucks the bouquet gently in the Rose Apothecary tote hanging from his arm. 

“Let’s maybe check that out, and then--”

“Brewer!” 

Patrick spins around as a couple rushes up to them. David steps aside when a man with longer brown hair pulls him into a hug. He’s got a good three inches on Patrick, at least. 

Patrick’s beaming as he moves to the girl next. 

“Man, we haven’t seen you in forever, Patrick,” she exclaims. She’s a slight, blonde thing with green eyes and a bright smile.

Patrick shoves his hands deep in his pockets. “I know, I’m sorry. I haven’t been home in a long time.” He pulls David closer to them all. “David, this is Matt and Becca. We went to high school together and Matt and I played baseball together.” 

“He was a great left-fielder,” Matt grins. Patrick laughs as his gaze flicks down to his shoes quickly.

“And this is David Rose, my fiancé.” 

Matt’s eyes widen ever so slightly, his mouth agape. “You’re engaged? Patrick! That’s—that’s incredible!” He pulls Patrick in for yet another hug and when he steps back, Matt reaches out to shake David’s hand. 

“It’s great to meet you,” he says genuinely, and any lingering nerves David had about running into Patrick’s friends subside right then and there.

“Well how’d you guys meet, when did this happen?” Becca is bouncing up and down on her toes, adjusting the sunglasses atop her head.

“We met when I went to file my incorporation papers for my business,” David starts. “I thought he was super cocky.”

“Yeah, but wasn’t it my cockiness and constant teasing that made you fall in love with me?” Patrick smirks with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Mm. Funny.” David leans over to knock his shoulder. “Anyway, I had no idea what I was doing and Patrick quickly realized that and decided to invest. He literally saved me from any extreme embarrassment and failure I might have endured. So, as the story goes, we own a little store together.” 

Becca nods excitedly toward the tote on David’s arm. “Is that what Rose Apothecary is?”

He lifts it proudly. “Yes it is. We carry locally-sourced products from vendors in the surrounding counties.” 

“So where is it?”

David gestures between himself and Patrick. “Back where we live in Schitt’s Creek.” 

“Schitt’s Creek,” Matt parrots. “That’s like...four or five hours from here, right? Quite the move, man. And quite the name for a town.” 

Patrick raises his eyebrows and says, “You should see the welcome sign.” 

David winces. “No, actually you should drive right past it with your eyes closed.” 

“Sometimes you just need to find something else for a little while,” Patrick continues, cocking his head to the side. He gazes warmly over at David before continuing. “And sometimes you find something or someone that changes everything.” 

His voice drops off a bit at the end and David has to blink away the tears that threaten to fall from Patrick’s little comment. 

“We’re definitely going to need to come see this place for ourselves!” Becca turns to Matt, who’s waving a hand in front of himself. 

“Wait, so when did you two get engaged?” 

“Only a few weeks ago,” Patrick says as his hand slides across David’s lower back. “Took him on a hike. It did not go to plan, and David wound up piggy-backing me halfway through, but it worked out in the end.” 

“Um, hi! You neglected to tell them that you tricked me into going by saying you were taking me on a picnic.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Patrick turns back to them. “See, I lied to David and said we were going on a picnic when, in actuality, I was forcing him to do physical activity. Because I’m evil.” He turns back to David, smirking. “Does that sound about right?”

“Yes it does.” 

Matt’s shaking his head a little as he smiles. “I’m  _ really  _ happy for you, man. I mean it.” He pauses. “Hey, listen. Becs and I are meeting up with a few people at Gifford’s in town tonight. Why don’t you guys join us for a few rounds?”

Patrick eyes David warily. “We don’t--we wouldn’t want to intrude…” 

“You wouldn’t be!” Becca’s tone is earnest. “Please, Patrick? Everyone would love to see you.” She must see the uneasiness that flashes across David’s face, because she directs the next part to him. “It will only be five of us, max. I swear.” 

David turns to Patrick and shrugs. “Why not? You haven’t seen your friends in a long time. Let’s go, it’ll be fun.” 

Patrick’s lips twitch a bit. “Alright, what time? Who’s going?”

“Riley and Ben, and Jamie’s meeting us later after he gets off work,” Matt lists. “We’re heading over around seven.”

They exchange goodbyes a short time later, Becca insisting on giving David a hug. He really only hugs so few people, but he welcomes it.

Once they’re out of sight, Patrick pulls David off to an area with a little less foot traffic. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with going tonight?” Patrick’s tone, although soft, is laced with underlying worry. “I know you didn’t want to have all of my old friends thrown in your face at once--” 

Patrick’s rambling stops abruptly when David sets his hands on his shoulders. 

“Patrick, I want to go,” he responds genuinely. “I want to meet your friends. The two of them clearly missed you, and I think it would be nice for you to catch up with everyone.” David presses his lips to his forehead. “We’ll have fun.” 

It’s enough to shake him from his not-so-hidden worry, and Patrick leans up to kiss David. 

They get lost in it for a second or two, the bustle of the market dissipating around them. Patrick gives his hips a squeeze before they continue walking. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you, too. Pretzels?” He gives Patrick his best attempt at puppy-dog-eyes.

“Yes, David. Lead the way.”

\-- 

As promised the night before, Patrick takes David down to the lake later that afternoon.

It’s a few miles outside of town and, excluding a small group of people fishing on the far end of the beach, it’s just them.

Patrick parks as close to the water’s edge as he can get and grabs the baked goods from the market from the backseat where David had put them.

They settle on the hood of his car, sharing a sandwich and a comically large blueberry muffin, passing a bottle of sparkling mint lemonade between them.

“I had my fair share of nearly-broken ribs and red stomachs swinging off that thing.” Patrick points across the way to a splintery-looking old rope that hangs from a tree branch. 

David winces a little. “I can only imagine. You’d have to be insane to do that.” 

Patrick shrugs. “Eh, I was a kid. Everyone did it.” 

“This sounds like I should be giving you the ‘if all your friends were jumping off a bridge’ lecture.” David breaks off a piece of the muffin, squinting at Patrick. “I bet your mom freaked out.” 

“Oh she did, but she was never here to chaperone. She always gave me a speech before I’d leave for the day.” Patrick drums his fingers against his thigh and passes the glass bottle of lemonade back to David. “At least  _ I _ never came home with a bloody nose.”

_ “What?”  _

“When I was in middle school, this kid went to do a front flip off the rocks over there and wound up getting a nosebleed from the impact.” Patrick visibly shudders. “Poor kid wouldn’t stop crying.” 

David’s face screws up. “Did you know him?”

“He was someone’s cousin, I think. I didn’t know either of them that well.” 

David caps the empty bottle. Twisting himself around awkwardly, he tosses it into the open passenger-side window where it lands on the seat.

He sighs dreamily. “It’s beautiful here.” He turns to Patrick half-squinting, expecting him to respond. Instead, Patrick’s staring out at the water and playing with his left ring finger. His eyes look partially glazed-over.

“Hey.” David elbows him a little bit.

“You know, this is where I proposed to Rachel.” 

_ Oh.  _ “Okay?” 

Three years ago, a statement like that would make David run. He’d call himself a fool for once again falling for someone and assume this was the moment where his partner would regret being with him. 

But this was different. Patrick was different and so was David. Patrick didn’t shy away from showing his love and emotions toward him.

So, unlike in the past, David’s stomach doesn’t drop. He stays.

There’s a heavy pause before Patrick speaks again. His focus is still trained on something way out in the diance. “It’s probably weird that I took you here, right?”

“No.” David rubs slow circles on his back. “I really don’t think it is.” 

Patrick offers him a lopsided smile.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

“I don’t know, David.” 

“Then that’s okay.” His gaze lingers on Patrick for a second longer before he turns his attention back to the lake, watching the water lick at the shoreline.

Out of the corner of his eye, David can see Patrick nodding slowly, rhythmically, his right hand having not stopped fidgeting. It’s almost as if he’s stuck on the motion.

The spell must break, however, because Patrick’s hand soon finds David’s where it rests between them on the hood of the car, and tangles their fingers together. David lifts them to give the back of Patrick’s hand a long kiss.

Patrick takes their hands into his lap.

“I picked up the ring three days before while she was away with her family for the weekend,” he begins, absentmindedly playing with David’s own rings. He slides his bottom lip between his teeth. “It was simple; white gold, one diamond, nothing flashy. I woke her up that morning and said I wanted to come down here for the afternoon. Just us, no family or friends. I figured that since this is where I first asked her out, it would be a fitting place to propose.”

David nods along.

“We picked up lunch at the same place we always did. And I lucked-out, I mean it was pretty empty because there was a fair or something going on in the next town over.” 

Patrick shifts uncomfortably and drags in a deep breath. All the while, David keeps his eyes trained on his fiancé.

“We, uh, just spent the day here. A few hours of swimming, being as carefree as possible, and just before we left, I grabbed the ring from my glove compartment and asked her.”

He glances over at David, his smile faltering a bit. “She said yes, obviously. No jumping up and down, not that I actually expected her to. I mean she cried and we were both super happy but--” Patrick takes a second to compose himself, and David squeezes his hand in reassurance.

“Something about it felt anticlimactic. I think I was expecting to feel something else, but I just never did. My stomach was in knots the entire day, and I thought, ‘Maybe this is what it’s supposed to feel like. Maybe this is how nervous I’m supposed to be.’

“Then when the day came for me to propose to you, and we were hiking, I was still nervous. But it felt different.” Patrick’s free hand makes a little circle in front of him. “Everything about it felt right.” He turns to David, his eyes still glassy but there’s a softness about them. “When I thought back on it, I realized that everything I was supposed to feel was in that moment with you; not scared,  _ excited,  _ and ready to have you in my life for as long as you’d let me.”

It takes everything in his power for David not to cry. He takes a breath in, “I don’t think I ever asked you, but how long were you two engaged?” 

“Seven months,” Patrick says, his voice solemn. “But I was thinking about breaking it off for a while. I finally did it one night after talking to a few caterers. I packed up my things and moved back in with my parents.

“I stayed there for a month, put in my resignation at work, accepted Ray’s job offer in a town hours away that I’d never even heard of and left…”

When Patrick trails off, David makes a point to pull him close. Patrick’s head lolls onto his shoulder and he huffs a shallow laugh.

“Met you three weeks after that.” 

David smiles tightly. “Yeah. I thought you were snippy.” 

He considers it a win when Patrick genuinely laughs. “And you were high.” 

“Ugh, not until later. Give me some credit.” 

David buries his nose in Patrick’s hair, planting little kisses along his hairline and temple.

“I guess I needed to get that off my chest,” Patrick mutters. “Kind of like closure.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

David makes a decision then. In a bit of an out-of-character moment, he begins untying his shoes, carefully setting them down by the wheel well. He tucks his sock into each respective hi-top, rolls up the ankles of his pants and slides off the hood of the car.

When he turns to face him, Patrick is giving him a quizzical look, but there’s a very small amused smile etched on his face.

“What are you doing?”

David extends a hand. “I’m going to go stand in the water and I’d like for you to join me.” He wiggles his fingers a bit. “C’mon.”

There’s a lot of things he wouldn’t do, but the list of what he  _ would  _ do for Patrick is even longer. 

It takes a second for Patrick to unlace his shoes and remove his socks. He struggles for a second to pull up the legs of his jeans -  _ They’re very tight,  _ David thinks, not that he’s complaining - then slides down into the sand next to David.

He guides them both out to the shallow water and has to bite back what would be a  _ very  _ unattractive noise once he registers how cold the lake actually is. David pulls Patrick into an impossibly close embrace as the water laps around their ankles.

“What were summers like here?” He asks.

Where Patrick’s cheek is pressed into David’s shoulder he asks, “What do you want to know?”

David sways them a little. “Anything. Everything.” 

“We’d come here on the last day of school every year and whenever we came home from college.” Patrick’s voice is a little more chipper now, and David’s heart swells because of it. “We’d race down, and the last person in the lake paid for the beer if we were old enough.

“Senior year when our baseball team won the regional championships, everyone came down. It had to be like...fifty of us. We set up a tent, a bonfire, I brought my guitar--”

“--You totally did--”

Patrick chuckles. “I did in fact lead a sing along,” he confirms happily. “Anyway, it was a really great time. We went nightswimming and Matt pushed me off those rocks over where the rope is. I got back at him an hour later when I poured his beer over his head and chucked his clothes in the water. Then he chased me.” 

David starts laughing a full belly laugh at the thought of a younger curly-haired Patrick being chased by his old friend and teammate. He thinks about how carefree he must have been, strumming away at his guitar around a bonfire that David would normally find stereotypically douchey, but instead finds the thought endearing. He thinks about Patrick charming everyone left and right with the same big eyes and warm smile he has now. 

There’s a small pang of melancholy that hits his stomach as he thinks about how uncertain Patrick might have been about himself back then, but just didn’t realize. Instead of dwelling, David holds his fiancé tighter.

“We’d come here like three times a week; big groups or small groups. We’d get drunk, sometimes high which was kind of nice.” 

David smirks a little at that. “There’s an idea for a rainy day.” 

“But,” Patrick continues, ignoring the comment, “it was really the same over and over. I’d always come home with burnt shoulders, and my mom would fuss over me not putting on enough sunscreen. Kind of like someone else I know.”

David hums. “Someone has to look out for your pale complexion.” 

“Thanks.” Patrick angles his head up, squinting at David in the mid-afternoon sun. “Lots of good memories here,” he muses. “Not enough kisses though.” 

“Mh, is that so?”

“No.” It comes out soft, and for a second David thinks he imagines it, but Patrick slides his hands up his back while they kiss.

“I really hope you have a towel in your car or something, because wet feet and socks are just a  _ disgusting  _ combination.” 

All Patrick does in response is kiss that spot on David’s neck and hold him close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me @maxbegone on tumblr!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three “What RomCom Character Are You Really?” and one “What Percent Food Snob Are You?” quizzes later, the door swings open. Patrick enters wearing a deep blue henley that looks very hot on him. It fits snug over his biceps and shows just a hint of his chest -- Not enough of it, David thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, by far, my favorite chapter of this entire story. I had an idea and I just ran with it. it flowed so easily on to the page, and I really, really, hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Folks...meet Riley.
> 
> Also, Patrick Brewer's undershirts? Not allowed.

David is splayed out on his stomach as he waits for Patrick to finish with his shower. He’s dressed and well-ready to go, just scrolling on his phone. All he needs now is his other half.

Their earlier venture to the lake seemingly knocked Patrick out; when they had gotten back to the house that afternoon, he’d gone and passed right out on the couch, not even acknowledging the baseball game Clint was watching. David let him be and snuck out back to sit with Marcy on the patio, talking with her about her gardening plans over a cup of tea.

There’s nothing --  _ nothing -- _ interesting enough on his phone to keep him occupied. So, in the midst of bored sighs, he looks at six different swimsuits Alexis sent him, claiming she needed help choosing at least three. Stevie sent him some shitty BuzzFeed quizzes that only held his attention briefly. 

Three “What RomCom Character Are You Really?” and one “What Percent Food Snob Are You?” quizzes later, the door swings open. Patrick enters wearing a deep blue henley that looks  _ very  _ hot on him. It fits snug over his biceps and shows just a hint of his chest --  _ Not enough of it,  _ David thinks.

He sits up and swings his legs off the side of the bed, beaming. 

“I’m ready when you are.” Patrick tosses his towel aside. He looks refreshed. 

David purses his lips for a second. “Honey, no undershirt.” He gestures to the white fabric peeking out from under the collar.

Patrick peers down and then snaps his head up to raise his eyebrows at David. “Undressing me already?” He laughs, but pulls his shirt off in one swift motion.

The threadbare tee bunches up around his torso and it takes  _ everything  _ in David to maintain his self control and keep himself from leaping across and pinning Patrick to the wall behind him. Oh, the things this man does to him. 

Patrick replaces the henley and sets his hands on his hips.

“Better?”

David bounces a little on the spot. “If it were up to me, and if it were socially acceptable, I’d be undressing you all the time.” 

Patrick squints, clearly amused. “Uh-huh. Put your shoes on, we’ve gotta go.” He says it but there’s...something about it.

David eyes Patrick for a second as he does up his laces. “You know I wasn’t kidding when I said earlier that I wanted to go tonight. Right?” 

“I know that.” Patrick crosses his arms over his chest, turning away slightly. “It’s just that I don’t want you to feel...uncomfortable, I guess?”

David sits up straight. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

Patrick cocks his head to the side. “A group of people you’ve never met before,” he says, voice soft. “I don’t want you to ever feel obligated to do anything that you’re not comfortable with. And that includes tonight.”

“I think you’re forgetting all of my years of colorful conversations and messy hookups with people I met, like, thirty seconds prior,” David says, his laugh meek and self-effacing.

Patrick gives him a knowing look, so David walks to him. He taps his fingers up and down his shoulders.

“I want to go,” he affirms. “Patrick, part of us coming here was so I could see where you grew up. It wasn’t  _ just _ about celebrating our engagement with your parents. Although you know I really love them.” 

Patrick’s lips quirk into a little smile, so David continues, softer. “Now, if  _ you  _ don’t want to go, then we’ll stay home. We can watch a movie, make some popcorn.” 

“No, I want to go, too,” Patrick’s arms move from his chest to circle around David’s waist. “I want them to get to know the man I’m marrying, but I do know how overwhelmed you can get which is why I might seem a little apprehensive. You’re always my priority, David. If at any point tonight you want to leave, then we’ll leave.” 

He shrinks a bit as he leans back into Patrick’s arms. 

“And I know I don’t have to say this -- but they’re going to love you.” He gives David that slow, sleepy blink.

David smiles. Patrick’s too good.

Taking a breath, he asks, “Ready?”

Patrick kisses the corner of his mouth in the affirmative, grabs his keys from the dresser and follows David out to the car.

Gifford’s, as it turns out, is a lot less dingy and damp-smelling than the Wobbly Elm back home. A very long wooden bar takes up much of the front of house, there’s no country rock playing from a dying jukebox, and the liquor selection is  _ extensive.  _

There’s a shout of, “Brewer!” that comes from somewhere further in the bustle of the crowd, and David sees Matt standing up and waving. It earns a cheer from the group that’s sitting with him and Becca at a high wooden table. 

When David glances over at Patrick, he’s wearing a look of pure excitement and a smile that cuts deep into his cheeks. Comfort settles in his chest. 

Matt claps them both on the back. He has on light-wash jeans and a linen white button-up, untucked, that looks much less bro-y than what he had been wearing earlier that day. David has to admit, he’s a handsome guy.

Patrick makes his rounds hugging Becca and the other three people circling the table.

“Now it’s a party!” It comes from a girl on the far end of the table, her hair up in a messy bun and a leather jacket draped over her shoulders. It takes a second, but David notes that her arm is in a sling. 

“Riley, what the  _ hell  _ did you do?” Comes Patrick’s exasperated voice as he gives her a meagre side-hug.

The girl, Riley, smirks. “Eh, soccer will do that to you. I’m fine.”

Becca pulls David to sit down on the empty stool beside her and says, “For the record, out of all of us growing up Riley got hurt the most.” 

“Yeah, I’ve had, like, two knee surgeries, I broke my wrist when I was ten, and I’ve gone to the hospital for stitches too many times to count. I have four older brothers.” With her good hand, Riley waves to David. “Oh  _ shit,  _ wait a second! You’re David Rose.”

_ Fuck.  _

Her tone isn’t demeaning or harsh, but her smile flicks from friendly to shocked for a split second. 

“I am,” he laughs awkwardly. “I uh...yeah.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” she quickly recovers and,  _ oof,  _ it’s fine. “I just remember you from those old orientation videos Patrick and I had to sit through when we worked at Rose Video together.” 

David blinks rapidly, thinking back to the terribly awkward shot of the whole family his father insisted on adding to the end of every Rose Video orientation tape. David wearing his glasses and looking like a total geek, and Alexis with her way too frizzy hair, she could put Hermione Granger to shame.

He rounds on Patrick, stumbling over his words. “How many of you fucking worked there?” 

“Just us.” Patrick takes a seat beside him. “Uh, everyone who isn’t Becca and Matt, and I guess Riley, this is David. So, Ben and Jamie, then.” 

He smiles at them all, offers a little “Hi,” and tucks his lips into his mouth.

Matt slams his fist on the table excitedly. “And what else?” 

Patrick bites his lip and reaches over for David’s left hand. He places it gingerly on the table, his thumb brushing over his knuckles. “And we’re getting married.” 

A deafening chorus of cheers comes from the five people around them, and one of them, Jamie, whistles loudly. It causes the surrounding patrons to look their way, but ultimately the group ignores them.

The smile on Patrick’s face is so bright, David basks in the moment of celebration. He kind of wishes he was able to meet all of Patrick’s old friends a bit sooner. 

“Well, next round’s on me.” Ben stands up and adjusts the denim overshirt he’s wearing. “What are you guys having?”

Becca places a hand on David’s arm. “Do you like grapefruit?” 

He nods, and she turns back to Ben with her own glass raised. “Get David a Blush Gimlet.” She winks at him. “It’s really good, I promise.” 

Ben points to Patrick. “Got it. Brewer?”

“A beer, please,” he says, and Ben’s off toward the bar. 

He returns soon after with a tray of drinks, passing a stout rocks glass to David. The drink is a soft pinkish color with a sage leaf bobbing on the surface. He takes a tentative sip and--

“Oh, that’s  _ dangerous.”  _ He turns to Patrick with a dopey smile who rubs his shoulder, amused. 

Conversations circle around like no time has passed at all since Patrick’s been back home. 

David watches him; he’s animated and lively, talking about the store in great detail and the Blue Jays, reminiscing with Jamie about the cabin trip they all took the summer before they were off to college.

When Becca asks if Patrick still sings or plays guitar, he tells them about the Cabaret run and David discovers that he was in a lot more plays than he initially let on. Clearly, if what Becca says is anything to go by, he had quite the penchant for Shakespeare -- Hamlet in particular.

David learns a lot about Patrick’s friend group, too.

Riley, as it turns out, plays soccer professionally -- hence the sling. Ben, her boyfriend, is a sports journalist, that’s how they met (David doesn’t understand any of the lingo, but he’s enjoying their company). 

Jamie came into the group later, he moved to town in the middle of high school. He’s currently wrapping up a pediatric nursing residency at a hospital in Toronto. 

Matt and Becca have known Patrick the longest. He and Matt met at age seven and grew up playing baseball together. Becca lived in the neighborhood behind the Brewer’s. David learns that Matt played baseball in college, now works in publishing, and that he and Becca got married the year before Patrick moved to Schitt’s Creek. Patrick was even one of his groomsmen. 

A thought flashes quick through David’s mind that Patrick had attended with Rachel. He refuses to dwell on it; it’s in the past, and really, it doesn’t bother him. But,  _ oh,  _ to know what was running through Patrick’s head during that ceremony. 

“Okay, Patrick,” Jamie leans forward on the table. “How did you win over a guy as cool as David?”

It takes a second for David to realize that, no, there isn’t any sarcasm in his voice. This guy called him “cool” genuinely. 

“I’m just super charming,” Patrick shrugs, feigning nonchalance. 

Jamie turns to David. “That true?” 

He lifts a shoulder and smirks. “Yes, that and being in close quarters every day at work.” He pauses before saying. “The store wouldn’t be standing without Patrick.”

And while there’s a soft chorus of “Aw” coming from Riley and Becca, Patrick diffuses it with his classic quippy manor. 

“That’s only because you had no idea how to properly fill out your incorporation papers.” 

David gives him a look, to which Patrick kisses his cheek in response. 

There’s a beat, then: “He buys me pizza. That’s the real reason I’m marrying him.” 

“I guess there has to be pizza at the wedding then,” Riley suggests from across the table. 

David sits up straighter. “Now there’s an idea.” 

“Thank you,” Patrick responds flatly. “Now he’s not going to stop talking about that.” 

“And neither am I until we get food, so,” Matt waves over a server and orders two flatbreads and a charcuterie board, and David hopes to god no one can hear his stomach grumble over the music. 

When he turns back to the group, Matt plucks his drink from the table and lifts it slightly

“Alright. A toast.” He raises his glass a little higher, and David sinks into Patrick’s side. 

_ Oh, god.  _

“I hope that I speak for everyone when I say that we’re really excited for you two, and Patrick I hope you know that we missed you a helluva lot.” 

Patrick looks over at David fondly, right arm wrapping snug around his waist. David drops his head shyly.

“To Patrick and David,” Matt gives them a wide smile. 

The group echoes, glasses raised, “To Patrick and David!”

A squeeze comes from the hand Patrick’s rested on his waist. When David looks back up at him, Patrick’s eyes are locked on his, bright and shining. 

David allows himself to be a little more vulnerable around these people he’s only just met and places his head on Patrick’s shoulder. He wraps his own arms around Patrick from his side and squeezes back.

Chatter resumes over the table, and David drains his drink just as nerves begin to prick at his stomach.

Nope,  _ no,  _ he’s not doing this here. Why can’t his mind just  _ chill?  _

He can feel his face warm and his chest feels hollow despite how happy he is seeing Patrick with friends. The anxiety that David thought he’d washed away with the shower he took earlier, or had at least buried it deep,  _ deep  _ down inside him was budding up again. 

He needs air. 

So he presses a kiss to the side of Patrick’s head, whispers “Bathroom,” and makes a beeline for the exit sign that hangs just above the one for the restrooms.

David practically barrels through the glass door that, subsequently, leads out to a beer garden with clusters of people sitting around on benches nursing drinks. It reminds him a bit of the places in Brooklyn he’d go to with his gallery friends. Or, “friends,” really.

He looks around and  _ good _ , he wouldn’t be having a panic attack huddled next to a dumpster. Not that it hasn’t happened before. 

He presses himself up against a brick wall far out of the way of other people and breathes in deeply. He lets the breath out in a bit of a sputter, but repeats the action of in-and-out, in-and-out for a few long minutes until his heart rate slows and his hands aren’t shaking enough to slosh a drink around if he were to hold one.

God, is the music louder out here or is he imagining things? 

“Stevie,” he mutters to himself and pulls out his phone. He needs to fidget, do  _ something  _ to keep himself distracted. It feels like his heart is going to shoot out of his chest.

_ Eugh… _

It takes three tries for David to actually unlock his phone and pull up his and Stevie’s text thread, but when he does, his stomach still swooping, he types out a message: 

**_[8:03 P.M.]_ **

**_hi so we’re at a bar with a bunch of patrick’s friends from growing up and they’re all really nice?? and they like me??? i don’t know how to take this like it’s not fake and what’s worse is that you’re not here making fun of me oh my GOD stevie this is so STUPID why am i actually fucking freaking out over this?? they’re happy for us and patrick and oh my god patrick is in his element here and they fucking gave us a toast? A TOAST??? WHO FUCKING DOES THAT?? WHO IS THAT KIND?? and i’m kind of starting to wonder if patrick misses being here and having these people around? what if i’m holding him back?_ **

**_[8:06 P.M.]_ **

**_FUCk stevie i really need you to slap me rn FUCK._ **

He manages to hit “Send” with a pretty shaky thumb, not even looking either text over to see if it was remotely coherent. Granted, Stevie’s gotten his panic texts before; she knows how to decipher them. 

Out of his periphery, David sees someone walk over to him cautiously.  _ Fuck,  _ if it’s Patrick…

“I thought I saw you walk out here.”

It’s Riley. 

David whips his head towards her, clutching his phone. “Yeah. Yes,” he says, nodding uncontrollably. He takes a deep breath. He’s pretty sure his face is contorted into something really abstract. 

Without notice, a cold glass is placed in his hand, making him startle. 

“I got you another gimlet,” she shrugs and then gestures to her own rocks glass, which is being held by the hand sticking out of the sling. “And a gin and tonic for me.” She exchanges hands and reaches over to clink their glasses together. “Are you sure you’re cool? Because I can get Patrick--” 

“No!” David plasters a smile on his face. “No, no, I’m fine. Really. Let him enjoy everyone.” He waves a hand vaguely toward the door. 

Riley’s studying him when he looks over, her jaw jutting slightly out to the side. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out earlier.” 

He waves a hand. “Oh, you didn’t. Don’t worry.” 

“No, I mean it. I can be...a bit intense. I said earlier I have four older brothers, so I got it from them.” 

David laughs a little at that, sipping his drink. Riley mirrors him. 

“If it makes you feel any better I’m pretty intense, too.” He tugs at the hem of his sweater a few times and stares across the garden at the Edison bulbs casting warm amber light on the fence they hang on. 

“Want me to leave you alone?”

David shakes his head. “No, actually. I kind of like the company.” 

Riley leans her head against the brick and swings one leg over the other. 

“You know, Patrick’s happier than I’ve ever seen,” she begins after a few moments of quiet. “Granted, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him, but you can just tell he’s different now. Like, a  _ good  _ kind of different. He’s himself again. I guess none of us realized he was pretending before he came here with you. Or maybe he wasn’t pretending, but you get it…”

When he looks over at her, Riley’s not meeting his gaze. Instead, she’s staring skyward at the pinkish-purple hue of the clouds. 

She continues. “Patrick and Rachel were that ideal couple, but there was always  _ something  _ about it that I just couldn’t put my finger on. Maybe he was just super compliant, I don’t know. Honestly when he left -- and he didn’t tell any of us why -- it made sense. I remember calling Matt up the day he told us and we thought he’d finally had enough of it all. I also thought he’d have given Matt a little more information, I mean, they were best friends. And it’s not like I could stop by and see him before he left; I was away for the season.” 

David’s heart pangs a bit. He takes a deep breath.  _ In and out,  _ he thinks.

“Part of me thought, ‘Hey, he’s finally getting out of here! Patrick’s gonna be that guy who moves to a big city or something and takes the world by storm!’ He didn’t tell us where he was going or for how long but their breakup that time was different. 

“It was probably the fact that they were engaged that made it so…” She teeters her glass a bit. “Real? I felt bad, I reached out but he told me he’d be okay, and with Patrick Brewer it takes a  _ lot  _ to get him to talk about what’s bothering him.”

David hums, a little teary. “Don’t I know it.” 

“Yeah…” Riley takes a long drink. “I’m just really happy he’s happy. Patrick is, without any doubt, one of the greatest guys you will ever meet. I’m sure you already know that.” She gives him a smile. 

And that’s the thing. David  _ does  _ know that, but hearing it from someone else, this practical stranger, it settles his nerves. Patrick’s not just a guy who materialized out of nowhere. He has a history. He has family and friends here in this town where he was raised, and there is so much more for David to learn about this man that he loves to the ends of the earth. 

“What was he like growing up?” It’s said so softly, David doesn’t think Riley even hears it at first.

But she does. “Oh, he was just the coolest guy. A total sweetheart, a people-pleaser. Super fuckin’ responsible. Everyone loved him. He wasn’t necessarily feted over and carried on the shoulders of others, but he always went out of his way to help.” 

“I think that’s also his downfall,” she sighs. “He doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, so he’ll just say ‘yes, and’ and go with it.” 

Riley pauses and her eyes turn a little melancholic. “My dad left when I was, like, fifteen, and my brothers were already off to college or had moved away. I was a mess because it came out of nowhere, and my mom wasn’t doing any better. My way of coping was going on runs so often that I’d almost pass out, or stay until it was dark at the soccer field and the stadium lights came on. 

“Patrick orchestrated this whole outdoor movie night thing at my place, got the whole crew involved, called my soccer friends. He brought a bunch of those monstrous popcorn bags we sold at Rose Video and some of the  _ grossest  _ horror flicks he could find. It really took my mind off things, even if it was temporary.” 

“That sounds really nice,” David whispers. “Besides the horror movie part.” 

She bobs her head from side-to-side. “See with Patrick, it really doesn’t matter who you are; he’s going to try his best to do right by you. But with you…” She turns her body fully toward him, her good shoulder pressing into the wall. “David you clearly reciprocate that, because I don’t think I have  _ ever  _ seen Patrick smile the way he does around you.” 

“I didn’t mean to spill all of that on you,” she huffs, capping-off her story. And then she chuckles. “I feel like we should be passing a joint or something.” 

David laughs a little. “I’d kill for that right now, but a drink will have to do,” and he sips his gimlet. 

Riley gives him a sly smile. “You’re pretty cool, David Rose.” 

Okay this is...not normal. It takes a second for David to register that because “cool” is not a thing he’s called often. And he’s been called that twice tonight. 

He arches an eyebrow.

“You are, too.” He pauses. “You remind me a bit of my friend, Stevie. She pretty much saved me from, like, dying of extreme loneliness when my family first moved to Schitt’s Creek. I was fucking miserable, but she kicked my ass. She was the one who pushed me to lease the store, the one that knew Patrick was good for me before I ever even came to terms with it.

“And then Patrick came along and turned out to be so much kinder than anyone has ever been to me. He just taught me a lot. That I didn’t have to be so afraid of being happy and that I can be loved and that I’m worthy of both of those things.” 

He might be crying from how truly good he feels with Patrick, but it might just be his drink. Regardless, his cheeks feel sticky from the tears. 

“He’s better because of you, too,” Riley muses. “You two have a long life ahead of you. I’m excited to see it unfold.” 

David’s lips quick into a smile and he opens his eyes to stare across the garden again. 

“Hey, everything okay out here?” 

They both turn to see Patrick approaching them warily. 

“Everything’s great, Patrick,” Riley beams back at him, and it’s genuine. “Just roped David into getting some air with me.” 

Patrick looks over at him, and David just blinks. He knows he can see right through it. 

“Well they just brought the food over and it’s been a while, so I thought I’d come look for you two.” 

Riley kicks herself off the wall and smirks. “Inside we go.” She gives David a wink over her shoulder and heads for the door. 

Patrick stops David. “You’re okay?” He wipes at David’s wet cheeks with his thumbs.

David gives him a wide smile that causes Patrick to match it, however his is all the more tender. “Just needed some air. I’m good, I promise.”

He kisses Patrick, arms wrapping around his shoulders as they linger for a few seconds.

“Let’s go back in,” he says and grabs Patrick’s hand tightly.

There are plates and two beautiful-looking flatbreads on the table. He glances over at Riley with a pursed smile as he takes his seat. Patrick comes up behind him and drops a kiss on his shoulder as they zero-in on the story Ben is telling.

After another hour, a group photo, and one more round of drinks they depart, David feeling warm and buzzed from the alcohol and the company. 

Matt hugs Patrick tight, and David pretends he’s not intruding on the moment when he hears him say, “Please don’t be a stranger, man. Missed you a lot.” 

Matt hugs him next and says, “I’m glad he has you,” just before he steps away.

David hugs Becca and slips her a business card with the store’s contact info on the back, telling her that they’ll ship anything, anywhere. 

The hug he gives Riley lasts a little bit longer and is a little more careful because of her shoulder. 

“Take care of each other, David,” she whispers, her voice thick. When she steps back, Riley not-so-subtly wipes a stray tear from her cheek. “We’ll see you again soon, yeah?”

“Definitely,” David promises. As if he was going to let Patrick go as long as he did without seeing his friends again. 

On the drive home, with the windows rolled down and the majesty of the night still lingering over them, David’s hand finds Patrick’s knee. He draws little patterns all over.

He looks at his beautiful fiancé who is still smiling as he goes on about how much he missed his group of friends.

“Invite them to the wedding.” 

Patrick looks over at him for as long as he possibly can before he has to turn his attention back to the road. His smile softens ever so slightly. 

“Okay.” 

He puts a hand over where David’s rests on his knee and leaves it there as they drive silently through the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me @maxbegone on tumblr!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David smirks at his reflection.
> 
> As Patrick brings a damp towel up to his face he pauses. “What?”
> 
> “Nothing.” The smirk remains as he spins around to rest against the counter. “I just thought of something.”
> 
> “Uh-huh.” Patrick wipes the excess shaving cream from his face. “And what might that be?”
> 
> David purses his lips for a second, thoughtfully. “Where’s this café you used to sing at?” He breaks out in a big, crooked smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four chapters out of five down! 
> 
> All I will say for this chapter is: Whitney Huston, Fiona Apple, Robyn, Julien Baker.

Something is tickling David’s neck. And the sunlight is practically blinding him through closed eyelids. When he goes to swat at the source, as well as bury his face deep into his pillow, there’s a muffled giggle.

_ Patrick. _

David cracks his eyes open to see his partner hovering just slightly above him. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Patrick whispers, and brings his head down to kiss him soundly. It’s long and slow, David smiles into it. 

Patrick moves his back to kiss that spot on his neck, which makes his stomach clench in a good way. There’s a muttering of “Baby” against his collarbone and David melts a bit.

There’s a unique intimacy about Patrick saying “baby.” He only ever does it when they’re alone and sleepy, and it’s not necessarily few and far between, but it’s an endearment he only uses in private.

It drives David fucking  _ wild.  _

Patrick whispers it again, this time nipping just under his earlobe and,  _ god,  _ he has to put a stop to this before it gets out of hand.

“We’re in your parents’ house,” David reminds him, but that seemingly does nothing except make Patrick move lower and push David’s shirt up until it bunches at his chest, leaving his skin exposed. 

Patrick kisses and nuzzles against the soft hair on his belly, muttering, “I love you, I love you, I love you, David,” with each touch. He sinks back into the pillows with a very shallow sigh.

He doesn’t go any lower which is both relieving and disappointing; it would be highly inappropriate for his in-laws to hear something like that.  _ Especially  _ this early in the morning. David reaches a hand to scratch at Patrick’s hair where he rests at his sternum, still dropping lazy kisses. 

“You’re a tease, you know,” David laughs breathily.

“Couldn’t resist.” 

“You certainly know how to wake a guy up.” He busies himself with pushing down a few pieces of hair sticking upright. “When we get home, I’m making you finish what you started.” 

A hum comes from Patrick. “Won’t be until tomorrow night.” He tilts his chin up. “Are you sure you can wait that long?”

“Well I’m gonna have to!” David exclaims. “There’s no way I’m doing that here.” 

Patrick shuffles back up to the pillows and plops down on his side to face David. He tucks one arm under his head and brings the other to rest on David’s hip, fingers tracing abstract patterns on his skin.

“I brought you coffee.”

David’s eyes flutter shut. He exhales,” You’re so good to me.” 

“And Mom said she’s making pancakes, but she’s waiting for us to get up.” 

“Pancakes with Marcy Brewer sound amazing,” he grumbles, “but I’m not ready to be a functioning human being yet.” With that declaration, he nuzzles himself further into the pillow.

“Oh, she’s well-aware of that.” 

David’s eyes sting and feel heavy with sleep even as they’re closed. He dozes off soon after, acutely aware of Patrick’s fingers still moving against his hip and lower back. 

“I’m really happy we got to see everyone last night.” It’s said barely above a whisper.

David forces his eyes open to see Patrick watching him tenderly. 

His lips twitch into a half-smile. “I’m happy we saw them, too.” 

“It was really nice to catch up with Matt,” Patrick continues, eyes still locked with David’s. “We were best friends, I kind of neglected him after I left. Becca, too.” 

David silently brings a thumb up to brush against Patrick’s cheek when his eyes flit toward the ceiling. He studies his sleep-worn face, the etchings of pillowcase markings still on his cheeks, his hair still mussed-up at the crown of his head. 

He can tell Patrick feels guilty, can tell he’s beating himself up from the inside out over past decisions, so he makes a stand.

“They all really missed you and they’re not mad that you didn’t reach out. Sure, they worried, but they’re  _ not  _ mad.” Patrick’s eyes come back to meet his once again.

He smirks, suddenly, “Did you ever want to kiss Matt?”

There’s no flash of defense from Patrick. Instead, he lets out a long, slow breath, and says, “If I did, it was probably a passing thought that I didn’t really understand.” 

“He’s a good looking guy, though,” David wrinkles his nose.

“He definitely is,” Patrick agrees, and David keeps going with a flick of his wrist.

“With that flowy hair and his charming smile.” 

“Are you going to leave me for my childhood best friend?”

David presses his lips together. “Never in a million years.” 

“So a million-and-one, then?”

“Never happening, Patrick.”

Patrick lets out an  _ “Aww”  _ and it makes David laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Riley told me what you did for her when her dad left,” David says after a moment. 

There’s a beat. “She did?”

David nods against the pillow and hums, slowly stroking his thumb over the delicate skin of Patrick’s under-eye. “She did. I love that you did that. You like taking care of people. But,” David slides his hand to Patrick’s shoulder, brows arched high, “you have to take care of yourself, too. Okay? Or even let me take care of you. I don’t want you exhausting yourself, and I’m not just talking about working past midnight on stuff for the store.” 

Patrick doesn’t say anything for a good stretch of time, but it doesn’t bother David. He just basks in the peace of the morning and studies the slight worry of Patrick’s brows and the way his lips have pressed into a thin line.

“I’m going to make an effort to talk to them more,” Patrick says finally, and David lifts his head up just a bit. 

“And I’m going to invite them to the wedding. Maybe even see if they’d like to come visit us for a long weekend or something.” He shrugs, looking to David for approval. 

“You definitely should.” He prods at Patrick’s shoulder for emphasis. “But I don’t know if you really want them staying at the motel. Kind of grungy.” 

“But I know someone at that grungy motel who could probably get them a discount,” Patrick teases.

David squints. “Right, so are you talking about me or are you talking about Stevie?”

“Oh, I’m talking about your dad, actually.” Patrick’s lips grow into a shit-eating grin as David shoves him. “You have no leverage.” 

“That’s just rude.” 

“David, if you can live there for three years, then my friends can stay there for a weekend,” he states, and David shoves him again. 

_ “Excuse  _ you! That’s even worse!” He gawks at Patrick’s laughter. 

Patrick then shoves him back, knocking David off his side. “Is it though?” 

“Yes!” But David is laughing now, too. 

Patrick gives him a quick kiss then rolls out of bed. 

“Wha--where are you going?” 

“To brush my teeth,” he announces, “and then to drag you downstairs for breakfast.” 

David groans, “Fine,” and reaches for his phone.

There’s a notification from the store’s Instagram account -- the only social media he actively tolerates. Mainly because he needs everything to look aesthetically pleasing and “just right.”  _ “I am the store, Patrick.”  _

He slides the notification bar open to see they were tagged in a photo and had gained several new followers overnight. 

The handle that tagged them looks oddly familiar, and it takes a second for David to realize that Becca posted the photo they took at the bar last night. The seven of them all crowded around the table, smiling and leaning into one another. 

His engagement rings glint and catches the light where David’s left hand rests on the table. He wonders for a moment if it’s a little ostentatious, but waves off the thought. 

He has several missed texts from Stevie as well, responding to the message he’d sent her in his panic-induced state. 

**_Stevie [9:32 P.M.]_ **

**_got caught up at work sry! and then ur mom roped me into a rly long talk about the wig she leant me for the play. did she rly have it for 18 yrs before wearing it for the first time? wtf!!!_ **

**_Stevie [9:32 P.M.]_ **

**_anyway hope u calmed down. u need to remember that patrick moved away bc he needed to start over. ur not holding him back, he’s not gonna leave u. he’s happy w/u and he’s happy in sc. ur not disappointing him._ **

**_Stevie [9:35 P.M.]_ **

**_patrick rly loves u and he’s a man of his word. he loves u sm it’s actually gross._ **

**_like fucking revloting sometimes._ **

**_anyway he’d choose u over going back home any day._ **

**_Stevie [10:08 P.M.]_ **

**_so ur not answering which means ur drunk or u 2 r making out or smth._ **

**_gross, btw. lmk ur not dead thx._ **

**_Stevie [10:28 P.M.]_ **

**_found a joint in my bag g’nite! *sunglasses emoji*_ **

**_[8:45 A.M.]_ **

**_hi stoner i’m alive. rest of the night went well, thanks for letting me vent._ **

**_also i think i found your doppelgänger?? not in looks, personality sorta…_ **

**_[8:47 A.M.]_ **

**_so like...half-gänger? yeah._ **

**_and about the wig, my mom kept it in a box forever. finally wore it to a red carpet when i was like 12 idk._ **

Shockingly, he gets a quick reply.

**_Stevie [8:48 A.M.]_ **

**_im not a stoner and ur not allowed to replace me david rose._ **

**_[8:48 A.M.]_ **

**_wouldn’t dream of it._ **

Patrick reenters, holding a hand out. “C’mon. Breakfast.” 

He tugs one of Patrick’s hoodies over his sleep shirt and grabs his coffee off the nightstand before heading down to the kitchen where Clint sits at the island with the Sunday paper and Marcy’s pulling a carton of eggs out of the fridge. 

She beams at them, “Good morning!” and kisses them both on the cheek.

Pancake making goes well. Or about as well as it can with David dropping two eggs on the floor, swearing, and Patrick schmearing batter onto his face. Music spills from the speaker that sits on the counter, and the four of them are laughing full belly laughs. There’s flour on his sleeves and on Patrick’s nose as well, and David is happy.

David is blissfully, stupidly, happy.

He douses his pancakes in blueberries and bananas and syrup and declares that this is the best breakfast he’s ever had. The Plaza’s Palm Court has nothing on Marcy Brewer.

“Any plans for today?” Clint asks as he reaches for a piece of bacon from a platter on the table. 

David swats Patrick’s fork away with his own when he tries to steal something off his plate.

“I’m not too sure. I was thinking of maybe taking David over to the batting cages across town.” 

David glares, but there’s no bite to it. 

“Or we  _ could  _ go on a hike, but the trail’s a good hour away and I already know you’re going to veto that.” 

“I wouldn’t say ‘veto’ necessarily,” David says with a wave of his fork, his voice going up an octave. “I just don’t want to have to carry you again. Once was enough.” 

Patrick gives him a little, “Ah,” and nods. “Not worth it?” He’s smirking at David and gives his foot a nudge under the table. 

“Totally worth it, I got cheese after.” 

“Right, priorities,” Patrick laughs.

Across the table, Marcy smiles along with their banter.

“We actually wanted to talk to you boys about something,” she says as she looks at her husband. “Obviously, we’d like to help out with the wedding, and David we can talk to your parents a little further down the line...But we do want to pay for your wedding bands. It’s a small thing, we know, but just pick out whatever you’d like and they’re yours.” 

David turns to Patrick, then back to Clint and Marcy. 

They hadn’t officially discussed the budget yet. Although Patrick’s idea of having the wedding outside the motel now that the slaughterhouse venue was off the table  _ had  _ shaved away some of the monetary worry. And the string lights David was now dreaming about, they probably had somewhere at the store.

_ “You could make it beautiful,”  _ Patrick had said. It still makes David’s heart flutter.

“You guys really don’t have to do that,” Patrick insists, but Clint’s already holding up a hand to stop him. 

“Son, we want to.” He stands then and walks over to the drawer under the coffee maker. Clint pulls out an envelope and hands it to Patrick as he returns to his seat. 

David leans into his shoulder as he opens it. Their jaws drop.

“That’s for whatever else you’d like to put it towards.” 

David tries to find something to say but he’s stunned. 

“T-this is...a lot,” Patrick stutters. He’s still staring at the check gripped in his hands. 

“Sweetheart, we want the two of you to have the best wedding imaginable.” Marcy reaches across the table and cups her son’s hands.

Patrick sniffs and whispers, “Thank you,” in a gravelly voice. 

David gives his wrist a squeeze and supplies an accompanying thanks to them both. 

They insist on doing the dishes despite Marcy’s protests that they’re the guests this weekend, and Clint has to take her hand in order to guide her out of the kitchen. 

It’s while they’re elbow-deep in soapy water that David gets the idea.

\--

He comes up behind Patrick while he’s shaving in the bathroom and kisses the back of his neck. He wraps his arms around him from behind and leans his chin on Patrick’s shoulder.

“David, please don’t make me cut myself.” 

He steps away. “Wasn’t my intention,” he replies and continues to watch Patrick glide the razor across his upper lip. 

David smirks at his reflection.

As Patrick brings a damp towel up to his face he pauses. “What?”

“Nothing.” The smirk remains as he spins around to rest against the counter. “I just thought of something.”

“Uh-huh.” Patrick wipes the excess shaving cream from his face. “And what might that be?”

David purses his lips for a second, thoughtfully. “Where’s this café you used to sing at?” He breaks out in a big, crooked smile.

Patrick sets the towel aside. 

“What?” 

“You really want to see it?” He asks like he’s half-expecting David to be joking. 

“Why not?” David shrugs, his arms crossed. “I want to see where teenage Patrick Brewer played guitar and sang his little heart out to a bunch of random people.” He waves his hands out, still grinning. “Please?” 

Patrick shakes his head, his eyes closed. “If you really want to see it, then sure. It’s...really underwhelming, though.” 

“I don’t care!” David leans into him. “I want to see it.”

“Okay, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be an improv troupe there today. They used to show up on Sundays.” 

Patrick’s face is completely straight, and despite the fact that David  _ knows  _ he’s being sarcastic, he glares.

“You better be kidding.” 

He tsks. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he says, planting a kiss on David’s cheek and leaving the bathroom.

\--

David gasps. “Look at this place!”

His mouth is spread into a wide, open smile as he turns to Patrick who’s trying his very best to suppress his own smile. 

The café is lively with people on an early Sunday afternoon. Brick walls, wooden floorboards, jazzy music, and there’s a bookshelf in the corner underneath a large chalkboard menu. Patrick points to a raised platform far in the back of the space currently housing tables and cushy chairs. 

“That is where I would perform,” he says, and then points to a smaller chalkboard hanging on a wooden pillar. “Looks like they still do it, too.” 

_ Open Mic Night! Second Friday of Every Month! _

_ See Mgmt. for More Information _

Patrick turns to him suddenly. “Why are you so excited about coming here?” He plants his hands on his hips, giving David a curious look. “What are you planning?”

“I’m not! I like seeing you perform and I just wanted to see where you started out.” 

Patrick lifts his chin. “So does this mean that we can have another open mic at the store?” 

David snaps his mouth shut. “No.” It comes out choked. 

“Because I can definitely wear that fringed vest this time,” he continues, “I’m pretty sure it’s actually in the basement back--”

_“Ah!”_ David grabs Patrick’s shoulders and gives him a shake. “Fine, fine! If you buy me coffee I will... _ think  _ about it.” 

“I’m considering that a win,” Patrick winks, and walks off to order.

David finds a table against a line of windows. With his chin in his hands, he stares out at the boutique shops across the street -- one of them is a flower shop that makes him wonder about the floral arrangements for their wedding. 

He smiles at his daydream, but it’s brief, as he’s soon pulled out of it by the scraping of a chair against the floor. 

Patrick sets a mug in front of him and drops a waxy brown paper bag on the table. David peeks into it; it’s an almond croissant.

“So should I sing an original song this time? Or should I do another eighties pop classic?” He locks eyes with David over his mug. 

“Um, I have to think about that, too…” 

Patrick cocks his head to the side. “Need I point out that I did in fact buy you coffee?” 

“You did,” David agrees, and blows at his steaming mug. “And a croissant.” 

“An extra form of bribery.” Patrick screws up his face a little and tears a bit off the end of the pastry, popping it into his mouth. “C’mon, original or should I sing Whitney this time?”

“Patrick if you sing a Whitney Houston ballad I will literally collapse on the floor.” 

He shrugs. “What about Sarah McLachlan?”

“Patrick--”

“Fiona Apple? Robyn? Ooh, Julien Baker!”

“Okay! Now we’ve completely left the eighties.” David sighs.

“Fine, so none of them.” Patrick leans into the table. “What if I write a song for you?” 

David throws his head back and groans loudly, eyes closed.

“What? Do you not trust me to be able to write a good song?” 

“No, I just don’t know how I’ll react to you signing a song that you wrote...for me.”

Patrick points at him. “I think you’ll react just like that,” he says. 

“When was the last time you even wrote a song?” David questions, his brows furrowed. “College?”

“No,” Patrick shakes his head. “About a month ago, actually.” He peers down into his tea. “My book is on my desk back at the apartment, I can show you when we get home.”

“You...I’m sorry, you already wrote a song about me?”

Patrick huffs out a laugh. “I had some late night inspiration.” 

With one hand wrapped around his mug, Patrick sets his free hand palm-up on the table, fingers twitching. David reaches out and takes it, his thumb brushing lightly across his knuckles.

For a moment, David searches Patrick’s face for any signs of faltering sincerity, but he comes up dry; he’s being completely honest. 

Patrick’s other hand leaves its place around the mug and he brings his fingers over to trace across David’s gold rings. He flicks the pad of his index finger across each one meticulously, as if he’s polishing the thick bands or wiping them free of any dust particles. Patrick lingers for a moment longer on the two stacked on David’s fourth finger.

David watches him and wonders what exactly is going through his mind. Is he thinking about their future? Is he thinking about how warm the gold looks against David’s tanned skin? Is Patrick thinking about what his mother said earlier this morning regarding their wedding bands? Maybe he’s imagining one on his own ring finger.

His stomach gives way to a swooping sensation, and then another less happy one when he looks past Patrick’s left shoulder. 

Wearing an oversized cream sweater and her red hair tossed up into a messy bun is Rachel.

Their eyes lock when she’s only a few steps away, probably heading to an adjacent table, and she stops in her tracks.

Patrick’s fully turned around by then, his fingers unmoving on David’s knuckles.

“Hi.” Rachel gives them a shy wave and steps a little closer. Her eyes flit from David’s left hand to Patrick.

“Rachel. Hi.” Patrick stands to hug her. It’s quick, but it’s not unlike a hug shared by old friends. 

She steps back, kind brown eyes landing on him next. “Hi, David.”

He smiles at her nervously. “Hi.” 

Patrick wipes his hands on his jeans. “Why--why don’t you sit?” He gestures to a vacant chair at the table beside them and looks at David, who nods.

Rachel obliges, hanging her back on the back of the chair. “Um. How are you guys?” She leans her elbows on the table. 

“We’re good,” Patrick replies, his hand finding David’s once again. “We’re just here for the weekend visiting my parents.”

“Oh, that’s nice!” She nods towards David’s rings. “I guess congratulations are in order?” 

David suddenly feels really exposed. He tucks his lips between his teeth despite the smile. “Thank you,” he manages to say.

“Your mom posted something about it on Facebook a few weeks ago,” she says to Patrick, who nods along.

“Well, thank you,” he smiles. “What about you? How are you, what’s new?”

“I’m working a lot, really, and my dad’s retiring but I don’t think that’s going to last very long. You know him,” she waves a hand, “he’s restless.” 

Patrick laughs at the information, and David briefly feels like he’s intruding. He knows he’s not. The two of them have kept in touch since the last time they saw each other when Rachel had come to Schitt’s creek. Facebook messages, the occasional happy birthday text, and Patrick had sent her and her family some stuff from the store when her mom had knee surgery earlier in the year. 

“Can I see the rings?” She’s smiling warmly at David.

He extends his left hand out and of course, because he’s an indelicate and clumsy mess, manages to knock his coffee all over the table. He swears and jumps up from his seat.

_ “Oh--” _

“F--I’m sorry!” David shakes out his hands as Patrick starts mopping up the puddle with a wad of napkins.

He digs the backs of his thumbs into his eyes. “I’ll...go order another.” He points vaguely toward the counter, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “I’ll be back in a second.” 

He side-steps awkwardly around Rachel’s chair, face burning red. 

As David waits for his coffee, he looks back across the room at Rachel and Patrick. They’re laughing about something, reminiscing, and Patrick is relaxed against the back of his chair. Rachel’s talking animatedly about something. 

David can see how Patrick had once fallen for her. For one, she’s incredibly kind and impossible to dislike. Secondly, she’s beautiful. David can imagine a younger Patrick bucking up the nerve to ask out this tiny redhead and how relieved he must have been when she had said yes.

Where there once would have been a knot of jealousy, David’s stomach now twists with a little more admiration; he’s proud of Patrick (and a little proud of himself) for maintaining a friendship with an ex.

They  _ were  _ together for a long time, and he knows that Patrick cared about her because he just kept trying. They’d talked about it before; how Patrick was able to see the path a little clearer once the veil slipped away and he’d realized he could never make Rachel truly happy when he wasn’t sure he was happy himself.

David knows Patrick -- he knows him well enough to say with confidence that he stuck it out with Rachel because he felt like he was doing right by her. Because he didn’t want to break her heart.

Rachel was his first love. Whether that love they had for each other was real or they’d tricked themselves into thinking it was, Rachel taught him so much. 

Despite the heartbreaks and the craterous bumps in the road they traveled together, Rachel taught Patrick to find himself -- in their breakups and in their heartache.

If it wasn’t for her, at the end of the day, there’s a chance that David would have never met Patrick.

Or, rather, they would have met  _ differently.  _ Maybe later on in their lives, but they’d meet. David was sure of it. 

Maybe Rose Apothecary wouldn’t have done as well without Patrick’s initial guidance (and teasing) and his penchant for crunching numbers. Maybe Patrick would have had a family like he thought he would years ago. Maybe, heartbreakingly, he would have never moved to Schitt’s Creek. 

He knows he’s spiraling now. David likes to believe they’d find each other regardless of Patrick’s past. 

If things were different and he actually had control over the situation, David would wish for less heartbreak for the three of them. But you live and you learn, and every experience leads from one road to the next. 

David is snapped out of his reverie when his name is called. He thanks the kid behind the counter and returns to the table where Patrick smiles up at him brightly. He returns it. 

“This time, I got a lid,” he chuckles and raises his to-go cup in triumph.

Rachel laughs with him, bright and clear. She crosses her fingers on both hands and lifts them up in a mock cheer.

She sets her chin into her hands; Rachel has a collection of little rings adorning her fingers and David can’t help but imagine an engagement ring that once sat amongst them.

He mentally kicks himself.  _ Stop fucking dwelling. _

“What did I miss?” 

“I was just telling Rachel about the store,” Patrick says, “and about how excited you were for our next open mic.”

“Oh great, you’re getting other people to gang up on me now.” He laughs, a bit exasperated. 

“Just say yes, David,” Rachel chimes. “He’s not going to embarrass you.” 

David makes a face. “That’s presumptuous.” He looks at Patrick then and says,” Fine. But this time, Bob’s not performing whatever  _ that  _ was.” 

Patrick gives a proud smile. 

“Also, can I just ask,” David says to Rachel, “Does he own or has he ever owned a super gaudy fringed vest?”

Rachel arches an eyebrow and looks between them. “Oh no, I burned it years ago.” 

David’s face drops. “So he’s owned one?”

She smiles. “He’s fucking with you, he’s never owned one.” She turns her attention to Patrick. “But if you did own one, Patrick, I would have burned it.” 

“Thanks,” Patrick says, and catches his bottom lip in his teeth. 

“So, David,” Rachel begins. “What do you think of our humble little town?” She holds both hands face-up toward the ceiling. “Quaint, right?” 

He nods. “Definitely quaint. And definitely different from anything I grew up with. But also, this place is a city compared to Schitt’s Creek. I really like it.” 

“Schitt’s Creek is certainly smaller than this place,” Patrick agrees. “I think this year’s graduating class was less than a hundred students.” 

Rachel lets out a low whistle. “What was ours? Two-twelve, or something?”

“Two-thirty-seven, Rach, get it right,” Patrick chides. It warms David’s heart witnessing this back-and-forth. He imagines this is what they were like in the beginning, all those years ago. 

“Hey, Rachel?” David grips his cup a little tighter. “Was Patrick as much of a troll back in high school as he is now?”

“Ooh, he was  _ much  _ worse,” she confirms and Patrick’s head drops toward the table. “But I gave him an equal amount of hell for it, don’t you worry. It’s how I got him to play spin-the-bottle at a party in ninth grade.” She reaches over to clap Patrick’s shoulder.

David sits up straighter. “Uh-oh,” he wiggles his shoulders. “How does this end?”

“Rachel was my first kiss,” Patrick says, to which she supplies a nod.

She hums into her coffee. “He was mine, too. But we didn’t start dating until the summer before our senior year.” 

David nods along. He can see how well they bounce off of each other; Rachel does in fact put Patrick in his place with her own snark. 

“Anyway,” she continues, coffee set aside, “we kissed, there was way too much teeth, and Patrick was beet-red the rest of the night.” 

He stammers a little, “What, it was my first kiss! I was fourteen!”

“Alright, alright! You were very sweet about it afterwards,” she comforts, then turns to David. “He came up to me at the end of the night and made sure it was okay that we kissed.” 

David gives a crooked smile. “Ever the gentleman, our Patrick.”

“I try,” he responds with a kiss to the side of David’s head.

“Hey, speaking of being gentlemanly, did he ever tell you about our ski trip in college?”

David shakes his head.

“So I wiped out,” she begins very nonchalant. “I was totally fine, only managed to sprain my ankle but still. Patrick insisted that we stay and make the most of it since we’d been saving up for three months, and we did. The lodge had a lot of things to do besides ski.” She gives Patrick a smirk. “I kicked your ass at foosball.” 

“You were making up the rules!” Patrick counters.

“I did not! I looked them up, there’s a difference! I bet I could still wipe the floor with you now.” Rachel crosses her arms over her chest. “Also, I would just like to point out that you’re super competitive.” 

David lifts up his hands. “Thank you!”

“You’ve experienced it first-hand, then?” Rachel asks, clearly thrilled. 

“Patrick coerced me into playing baseball with him a few months ago and he basically yelled the entire time.”

“He was like that in high school, too,” she confirms and Patrick gives an exasperated sigh.

“Hey, David,” Patrick interjects loudly. “Have you ever skied before?”

He drums his fingers against the table. “I’ve never actually  _ skied.  _ I mean, my parents dragged me and Alexis to a resort in Switzerland after Christmas one year. I pretty much drank my weight in hot chocolate and mulled wine while Alexis skied with some guy and his friends she’d just met. She’s annoyingly good at it.” 

It continues like that for a while; Rachel telling stories about Patrick, making sure to jab him at the right moments, and David listening enthusiastically. Rachel, David discovers, is very easy to talk to.

Eventually she glances down at her watch and sighs. 

“I have to head out,” Rachel announces, swinging her back over her shoulder. “I’m supposed to be somewhere at three.”

“Hot date?” David asks, and a split-second later he wishes he could bite his tongue and take it back, thinking he’s overstepped.

But Rachel blushes as she stands. “Yes, actually. It’s still relatively new, but he’s really a really nice guy.” 

Patrick stands with her. “I’m so happy for you,” he says with open arms. “I’m glad we ran into you.” 

She’s on her tip-toes as she hugs him. “Me, too. Say hi to your folks for me?”

“Yes, yours too.”

Rachel steps tentatively toward David next. “Can I hug you? Is that okay?”

He stands, nodding with open arms and hugs her tight. David has hugged more people this weekend alone than he has in the last three years.

“Congratulations again,” Rachel smiles, picking up her coffee. “Keep in touch, yeah?”

David and Patrick both nod, and she departs with a wave over her shoulder. 

As they walk back to the car not long after, hand-in-hand while David goes on about his regulations for their next open mic night, Patrick spins him around to face him. He pulls David in by the waist and kisses him full on the lips.

David’s knees go a little weak.

“What was that for?” He asks softly when they pull apart.

All Patrick says, gazing longingly into his eyes, is, “I just really love you.” It’s as if he needs to say it or the earth will give out beneath him. 

He smiles back at Patrick in that soft, twisted-lipped way as he places a hand on the back of his neck and pulls him in again. They stand there in front of Patrick’s old car, wrapped up in each other and gliding lazy hands across broad shoulders and backs. 

David maneuvers to sit on the hood of the sedan with Patrick between his legs.

“So you really wrote a song about me?” David asks, lips pursed, alluding to the earlier conversation.

“I did.” He plays with the rip at the knee of David’s jeans. “Wrote a whole lot about you over the years, actually.” Patrick’s voice is soft. 

“Hm...All good things I hope?” He asks, leaning in to catch Patrick’s lips.

“Not at all.” 

“You know, I’m learning a lot about you this weekend,” David says as he looks around the parking lot. “I like it.”

Patrick tilts his head slightly to the side, hands coming up to cup David’s cheeks. “Well let’s hope we keep learning about each other.” 

He laughs lightly and presses his face into the crook of Patrick’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me @maxbegone on tumblr!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he really had run away from Schitt’s Creek a few years ago with nothing but his suitcases and Roland’s rusty old truck, where would he be now? 
> 
> One thing is for sure -- David would not be as happy as he is today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really think, in the beginning, that I would actually get around to finishing this. What was originally going to be a very long oneshot turned into a five-chaptered fic which is something I have never done. 
> 
> This fic was so well-received, and reading the comments on each chapter made it worth posting again and again. This fandom has been far too kind to me.
> 
> Once again thank you to Sojie (imargaery on tumblr/petradobreva on Ao3) for being a wonderful beta over these past few weeks of writing.

Their bags are packed and in the trunk of Patrick’s car by nine the next morning.

The plan was to get on the road and head back to Schitt’s Creek in time to open the store late for some early-evening foot traffic.

But when David comes back upstairs, he finds Patrick standing in the middle of his old bedroom with his arms crossed tight over his chest, looking around at the placement of everything. David has to remind himself that this is the first time Patrick’s been home since moving away.

The neutral tones of this room don’t yell “Patrick” like the blues must have when he was growing up. The bed is made, the windows are open, letting in a cool morning breeze, and Patrick was just standing there, staring.

David massages his shoulders silently, thumbs pressing into the tense muscle, until he turns around to face him, smile somewhere between sad and nostalgic etched on his face.

“Let’s not rush to get back,” Patrick says quietly.

“Okay.” David returns the melancholic look and toys with the collar of Patrick’s navy crew neck.

“I just want to spend a little more time with them. Before we leave.” 

David nods in understanding, “I’ll ask Alexis to put a sign on the doors,” he says and Patrick’s face lights up, although it’s hesitant. 

“Are you sure?”

“Patrick, it’s fine. Let’s take our time today.” 

A childlike demeanor seemingly kicks-in as Patrick rushes downstairs to where his mother sits in the front room. David follows suit, getting to the living room just as Patrick sits beside Marcy on the couch. He rests his head on her shoulder, and while she seems a little surprised by the interaction, she welcomes it, her cheek pressing into his hair. 

“Are you boys heading out soon?” She kisses her son’s head and looks from him to David where he’s hoving in the doorway.

“No, we’ll hit the road this afternoon,” Patrick announces, and Marcy’s face is alight like her son’s moments ago.

She moves to get up. “I’ll make breakfast!”

“Mom, you don’t have to,” Patrick attempts to plead, but Marcy just shakes her head.

“I’m not doing anything fancy. We have fruit, I’ll whip up some eggs and bacon. Twenty minutes,” she says, marching toward the kitchen. “We’ll eat on the front porch!”

David leans against the entryway, his eyes wide. “Wow…”

Patrick shakes his head. “She is relentless…”

“Should we help her?”

“No, no. Just let her do her thing.” He gestures David over to the spot next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders when he does so. “She’s probably just excited to be able to cook for more than herself and my dad one more time this weekend.” 

That warms David’s heart. “Do you think she misses it? Cooking for you?”

“Maybe. A few years ago, when I still lived nearby, I was here twice a week for dinner. She really just has my dad to dote on now.” 

“Do  _ you  _ miss it?”

“I definitely miss her cooking and watching baseball with Dad,” Patrick shrugs, his voice a little strained. “Hey, maybe we should pick up a bottle of bourbon on the way home, see how close you can get to her famous apple tart from Friday.”

David raises his eyebrows. “I mean if you  _ want  _ me to burn down your apartment building,  _ like _ I said on Friday.” 

“No, you’ll do great! And I’ll be on standby with the fire extinguisher.” It earns him an eye roll.

There’s a Sunday morning news show playing on the TV that sucks them in for a little while. David looks over at Patrick and sees the smallest of contented smiles on his lips. He gives his thigh a squeeze.

“Hey...do you miss being here?”

There’s a brief pause before Patrick answers, but not out of hesitation. He looks at David with so much genuine love in his eyes and says, “I am so happy with you and the life we’ve built together. I’m happy in Schitt’s Creek.”

David hides his lips between his teeth. He knew that deep down, but hearing Patrick say it, well, it just strikes him right in the heart.

“I’m happy with  _ you,  _ David,” he adds.  _ “You’re  _ home.” 

And, okay  _ oof.  _ David blinks away tears and gives an awful noise as he clears his throat. “It’s like you pulled that line straight out of some sappy romance novel,” David chokes, his eyes wide.

“It’s the truth.”

“Okay don’t…” David starts shaking his head, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t make me cry right now.”

Patrick just smiles at him softly. “I love you, David.”

He takes a throw pillow and presses his face into it. His voice is muffled as he says, “I love you, too,” against Patrick’s accompanying laughter.

“Aw, David, if I’d known getting all sappy would involve you trying to suffocate yourself with a decorative pillow I wouldn’t have said any of that!” 

David shoots upright with a sharp intake of breath. “You’re a  _ menace.”  _

“Breakfast is ready, boys!” They hear Marcy call from the kitchen.

“I’ll go help her,” Patrick says, standing to leave the room. “Meet you outside?”

David kisses him quick on the lips. “A menace,” he repeats.

He takes a seat in one of the cushioned chairs surrounding a glass table on the front porch, crossing one leg over the other. Patrick comes out with a stack of plates and utensils and sets them gently onto the glass.

Marcy’s right behind him with a tray -- platters piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. She disappears again only to return with a bowl of berries. 

There’s a slam, and Clint walks out from the garage, a little out of breath and squinting at them all.

“Honey! Breakfast!” Marcy calls to him, gesturing to the spread David and Patrick are already digging into. “Why do you look so winded?” 

Clint kisses his wife on the head. “I was looking for something.” 

“Oh, is that what all that banging was this morning?” She frowns at him. “You could have woken up half the neighborhood with the noise you were making.” 

“I was also fixing the lawnmower,” Clint supplies. He holds up two baseball mitts toward Patrick. “Been awhile since I’ve broken mine out,” he smiles. “Yours probably hasn’t been used since high school, Patrick, but if you have time after breakfast…?”

“We have time, Dad,” he grins and plucks a piece of toast off the center tray. “But I don’t want you straining your shoulder.” 

He waves him off. “I’ll be fine.”

“You said that last year when you strained it fixing the shutters,” Marcy tsks.

“And I was  _ fine.”  _

She mutters, “You’re a ridiculous man,” into her coffee mug, but she’s smiling. Clint leans over and kisses her temple in response.

“I missed this,” Patrick says out of the blue. “I missed hearing you tease each other like this.” There’s an underlying bit of longing in his voice, David can pick it out. He sets a hand on Patrick’s back and lets his fingers trail around.

Marcy taps her fingers against the armrest of her chair. “Why don’t we come up to see you next month? We’ll stay the weekend, discuss some things for the wedding...And we’d love to see how the store is doing!” 

Patrick’s eyes are practically twinkling as he says, “We’d like that a lot.” He looks at David. “Right?”

“Definitely,” he agrees. “And maybe by then I’ll be able to cook, like, one really good thing.” 

“That would be lovely, David,” she says. 

“Maybe we’ll even go to Elmade?” He looks around the circle. “There are some nice shops and things to do there, and you guys didn’t really get to see it the last time you were in town. Ooh--” He whips around to look at Patrick. “Maybe we could take them to that Italian place? Oh! Or the drive-in?”

Patrick rubs his arm, and David does his very best to contain his smile. 

Marcy clears up breakfast while Patrick runs to dig out a ball from the garage. David looks up from where he’s rubbing at a scuff mark on the toe of his shoe just in time to see a white blur sail across the yard. There’s a  _ smack  _ of leather hitting leather where Clint stands holding up his glove. He throws it back to Patrick who catches it one-handed in his mitt, and it goes back-and-forth, back-and-forth. 

The storm door creaks open again. Marcy sits beside David with a contented sigh.

“I swear, if Clint starts complaining about his right shoulder tonight…” She shakes her head and gives a lame laugh. “The two of them used to do this for hours...Still could.”

David keeps his eyes trained on Patrick. “Yeah, I really don’t see how. Throwing a ball around for that long seems painfully boring.” He watches as the ball is tipped off the top of Patrick’s glove as he reaches high and back to catch it, one leg kicking up into the air. It lands far behind him and begins rolling down the driveway.

David’s gaze not-so-subtly drops to Patrick’s butt as he bends down to snatch the ball up again. He catches David’s eye and sends him a knowing wink.

“Sweetie, just pick a weekend next month and we’ll be up, okay?”

“Sure,” he says cheerfully. “But you two should also come up in the fall. Elm Valley is beautiful around that time, and there’s a cider mill we’re going to try and set up a contract with this year.” David rambles on a bit -- about cider, doughnuts, and other warm and spiced things, Marcy just smiles along.

Eventually she says, “I’m so happy you two came to visit. It’s been so nice having Patrick home again, even if it was only for a few days.” 

“It was nice getting to see everything that made Patrick who he is,” David responds, his hands bouncing with each word. “Getting to meet some of his friends, hearing all of the stories you and Clint told me. We ran into Rachel yesterday, too.” 

Marcy sits up a bit straighter. “You did? How did that go?”

David lets himself relax as he says, “It was kind of refreshing, I think, for all of us. She was really happy for us, and I thought it was going to be  _ really  _ awkward. It wasn’t.”

“She’s such a kind girl,” Marcy replies gently, “Not a mean bone in her body.”

“I can see that.” David picks at his thumbnail distractedly. “I’m also just realizing now that she kept us being together a secret,” he whispers. “I mean I didn’t know that you two didn’t know about Patrick and me -- and I didn’t expect her to march off and scream it to the word, either, but…” David shrugs limply.

“Rachel has a lot of respect for Patrick,” Marcy states, her eyes trained on her son. “I ran into her a few weeks after his birthday. She told me about her trip to find him and that she would always care about him, no matter the circumstance.” 

David bites his lip. “I’m happy they’re friends,” and that’s enough to get him smiling again. And the thing is, he really  _ is  _ happy about it.” 

_ These are good people,  _ David thinks to himself.  _ There are good people.  _

Patrick taught him that. Hell, all of Schitt’s Creek taught him that, but Patrick -- sweet, beautiful Patrick, his fiancé, his  _ husband --  _ taught him that people, really good people, care.

Before Patrick, David never really thought he would have someone in his life that cared enough to go out of their way to do anything for him; help him, love him, care for him. He was just coming to terms that no one would ever want to spend the rest of their life with someone as eccentric as he was when their family lost their fortune. 

The flings he had in the past only had enough room for David to hold on to some measly bit of hope that they would last more than a few weeks.

David had so many long nights with nameless, faceless people in bathrooms and mis-matched bedrooms that he couldn’t quite place. Nights filled with top-shelf liquor and good blow and cheap sex used in an attempt for him to feel something,  _ anything.  _ Really, it was all the more numbing. 

Because nothing felt quite like this.

Nothing felt quite like the love Patrick showed David every single day. No one had ever excited him as much as Patrick did, no one has ever made him feel so at home like he does. He makes David feel free.

If he really had run away from Schitt’s Creek a few years ago with nothing but his suitcases and Roland’s rusty old truck, where would he be now? 

One thing is for sure -- David would not be as happy as he is today.

_ “You’re home.”  _ It echoes in his head over and over.

And Stevie’s text,  **_he’d choose u over going back home any day._ **

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a line forms that he tucks away for months from now;  _ “It’s not been an easy road for me…”  _

That road led to Patrick, after all. 

David brings his fingertips to his lips to keep them at-bay. He watches Patrick and he sees their  _ future.  _

He can see them growing old together, coming back to Patrick’s hometown to visit his parents again and again. David can see them building something more, experiencing the world together, learning new things about each other as the years tick on and on.

He’s never seen that with anyone before. 

He’s not waiting for it all to come crashing down on him anymore. The seconds aren’t ticking away and David’s not anticipating the end. He has four shiny rings and the wonderful man who gave them to him to remind him of that.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and when he turns Marcy is holding out a paper napkin for him.

His cheeks are wet, he realizes, and he just starts laughing.

Marcy leans over and wraps her arms tight around him, laughing, too. 

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she whispers happily, tearfully, into the hug and David just loses it. 

He lets himself cry happily in this wonderful woman’s arms; the woman who raised Patrick, his life partner, his his husband-to-be.

Maybe he should be a little embarrassed by the fact that he’s crying while his mother-in-law holds him because he’s happy, but that’s just it.

David is  _ really  _ happy.

He scrubs at his cheeks when he pulls back from Marcy’s embrace, and when he looks out toward Patrick, Clint has an arm slung around his son’s shoulders as he kisses the top of his head.

Growing up, his family was not as open as the Brewers are, and David’s not accustomed to that level of affection, but he thinks he could get used to this.

Noon rolls around, and then one o’clock and soon David and Patrick are saying their goodbyes. Tight, tight, wonderful hugs from Marcy earns more suppressed tears from David even as Patrick keeps a hand on his back.

“Call us when you get home,” Marcy instructs her son, “and we’ll be up next month.”

Clint puts his hand out for David to take, which he does, but he’s still pulled in for a quick hug. “Thank you for taking care of our son, David.” 

He sniffs. “He does a very good job of taking care of me, too so…” David twists his lips and says to them both, “We’ll be back soon.” 

Marcy hugs her son once more, and David watches as Patrick sinks into his mother’s arms. They missed each other, he knows that. They sway, and there are murmurings he can’t quite hear, but the sight makes his heart swell.

He’s okay with going a little soft. It feels right.

They drive through the town, and pass the road which leads to the lake. Patrick drives past his high school a few minutes before they get on the highway, and points out the old diner. He passes the storefront where Rose Video used to be but is now a health food store, and David tries his best to drink in every single part of the town as they drive.

He looks over at Patrick who has one hand on the wheel and the other against David’s thigh. David lolls his head back against the headrest and studies the line of Patrick's jaw and the stubble that ghosts over it, the gentle upturn of Patrick’s lips, and the way his eyes shine brightly as they coast along.

Patrick does a double-take when he looks over. “What?”

David just shakes his head, eyes closed briefly and says, “I can’t wait to come back."

Patrick’s hand moves from his thigh to David’s left hand. He laces their fingers together, pulls their hands up to his lips and presses them to David’s knuckles. 

“Me, too,” he says back between kisses. “Me, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading! You can come yell at me or with me @maxbegone on tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me @maxbegone on tumblr, if you'd like to yell with me. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
